


Roman

by Ursaborea



Category: Grimmy!
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:16:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursaborea/pseuds/Ursaborea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have no excuse for this other than I just love this handsome jerkface oc.  Sorry not sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little, slightly smutty fic about HomosexualPancake's wonderful OC, Roman.   
> See Roman and all his other amazing artwork here: http://homosexualpancakes.tumblr.com/tagged/art

The bell on the tattoo parlor door chimed, again.   Standing outside in the afternoon chill, Roman had been listening to it for a little over an hour now.  Watching people come and go; a vivid variety of painted and pierced beauties, like a line of exotic birds migrating in and out of the cold, cutting free from the flock of bland grey pigeons only to adorn themselves further before diving back out into the grey mass of the average. 

He’d had his first actual solo set at the café, and the extra tips were a windfall, the extra income suddenly burning a hole in his pocket.  He’d struck a deal with himself – only spend half.  So now he stood outside the tattoo parlor, a place Bailey, one of the baristas at the café had recommended, quietly watching the patrons come and go as he lit a second cigarette, and then a third.  He’d damn near mauled his lower lip to bleeding and worn a circular little rut in the filthy snow of the sidewalk with his aimless meandering before he managed to force himself to toss that last butt aside and stride for the door.  He could hear the soft hiss the lit cigarette made in the slush just before that brass bell chimed behind him as the door swung shut.

He swallowed down that familiar, tight, choking feeling that started clawing its way up his chest and into his throat as he wandered up to the desk, hesitating as eyes ticked between the young woman standing behind it, pierced till her face looked like she’d run out of room, and the young man leaning opposite her, grinning widely as the pair exchanged conversation. 

“Yeah, so then at the party the other night I actually ran into him and…”

“No way.  No friggan way, alright you have to take me next time.  I gotta see this…”

“I dunno, Jimmy’s kinda a freak about who gets in, but…”

“No, come on…”

Roman swallowed, shoved hands into the pockets of dark jeans, found that the gesture nearly sent them sliding down off hips, and pulled hands back out again to tug them up in a practiced and unconscious gesture at his back belt loops as he cleared his throat quietly.  Both sets of eyes swiveled toward him, and the girl broke in to a warm smile, causing all the bits of metal in her face to migrate and prickle outward like porcupine’s quills.  
  
“Hi sugar.  What can we do ya for?” 

The man leaning against the counter fell silent, watching Roman with a bemused expression.  The hair that peeked out from under his grey knit hat just at the back of his neck and across his forehead was a brilliant shock of green, and what skin showed of his arms under the bunched sleeves of the black henley he wore had livid, beautiful patterns of that same brilliant green and several shade of blues mingled with inky, melting puddles of purple drops.  Colors of peacock feathers, only so abstract you had to look twice to really see them there.   Roman forced attention back toward the shop girl.

“I was, uhm.  I was hoping to get some work done.”  He said, quietly, and for a second was afraid he’d said it too quietly and would have to repeat himself as she gave him a blank look.  But the girl only nodded encouragingly – if a bit sarcastically.

“No kidding.  What exactly did ya want, sugar?  I gotta tell you our piercer’s gone home sick for the day so if you were thinking ‘bout getting a ring in your cock or something, you’re outta luck for tonight at least... but if ya really wanted one, you could come to the back and I could see what I can d-“ 

“Stop it, Jess.  I swear to god you do this every time I’m here for a shift, either scare people away or else make sure I end up with no tips.”   The young man at the counter straightened, gave the girl, who was now grinning with all the innocence of one facially mangled little cherub, a narrow-eyed glare before he turned to Roman and offered out a hand.  A silver barbell ran straight through the webbing between thumb and palm, and it pressed warmly against that same part of Roman’s own hand as he reached out and shook briefly.  Dropped his hand back into his pocket and curled fingers around the interesting sensation it left behind.

“I’m Imriel, and while Jess is right…”  He shot the girl another teasingly dark look, which she studiously ignored, busying herself with some paperwork, “…our piercer _has_ gone home, but we can book an appointment for you later if you want?”

“Oh.  No…” He shook his head, suddenly realizing that with the scarf and hoodie, coat and hat on, the only mods that were visible on him were gauged ears .  He pulled hands free from pockets once more and unwound scarf, pulled the zipper of hoodie down slightly and tilted his chin up, displaying the riot of leopard spots that dappled skin of throat and collarbone, disappeared into the scooped collar of the black tank he wore.  He couldn’t help but drop his head and smile at the low whistle that Imriel made, noting with some small sense of satisfaction the surprise registered on the face of the girl behind the desk.

“I was hoping to get some work done.  If, if there was time open?”

“Heck yeah, man.  Holy shit.”  Imriel smiled broadly – it seemed to be his natural state, a constant upturn of that mouth, two little hoops at one of its outer edges accentuating the curve of it.  “I had a cancellation and don’t have anything booked till later.  Let’s do it.  Come on back.”

The girl behind the desk shoved a clipboard at him across the counter, and after the regular signatures and waivers he was trailing in Imriel’s wake, back toward his station, and peeling off all those outer layers, along with the black tank under them all, leaving a pile of clothes like shed skin in one of the nearby chairs.

“I’d just like a bit more of the back done.”  He murmured.  “Maybe some color touched up too?”

“Sure, alright.  Go ahead and lay down, get comfortable.”

Imriel was already snapping open small, sterile sealed packages  and pulling little bottles of ink from under a cabinet.  He was shorter than Roman by almost five inches, and sitting upon the swiveling stool next to the table, he seemed even shorter.  Not a very imposing figure, but all the colors of him, along with that smile made up a certain kind of vibrancy that filled the space his height did not.  He looked lean too, a runner’s build; made Roman feel much larger and broader than he actually believed himself to be.   Roman lowered himself onto the black, cushioned bench of a table and pulled the square cushion of a pillow at the head of it under his chin as he listened to the snap and buzz of the fresh needle being tested, run through the ink, and tested again.

Fingers stroked behind his ears and he jerked slightly at the unexpected touch, shoulders tightening into painfully tense knots for a second before he realized the fall of his hair along the back of his neck was just being gathered, scooped aside.  He released a breath in a whoosh a bit louder than he’d meant it to be and could hear Imriel chuckle behind him. 

“Easy.  Just making space.”  Warm fingertips ran across the back of his neck, smoothing stray hair aside lightly, left skin unused to touch tingling, prickling slightly.  It was not at all unpleasant.  Roman pulled his lower lip between the pinch of teeth and said nothing, just nodded slightly.  Touch strayed to his upper back, across the plane of one shoulderblade in a smooth sweep.  He could feel a constriction in his throat that had absolutely nothing to do with panic, and found that his eyes had gone shut for a moment, absolutely without his permission. 

“You’re really smooth, I think we can get away without shaving.  No one likes that part anyway.”  Remarked the voice behind him, in a casually conversational tone that made the awkwardness of such a statement seem trivial at best.  Roman could hear the snap of gloves going on, and the chill swipe of disinfectant being stroked across his shoulderblades and upper spine erased the lingering sensation of contact. 

“I gotta say, man, I like this design.  Very cool.  You’ve had your throat done, and some other sensitive places from what I see, so this should be a breeze, but if it starts to hurt or you need a break, let me know, alright?”  Imriel leaned over slightly, enough to get Roman to turn his head and glance back with a nod.

“Ok.”

Imriel’s grin widened and he lent back, splayed one gloved hand over the flat plane of a shoulderblade to gently tighten skin, priming needle one last time.  The hygienic, sterile contact of the latex glove felt so much less personal, lacked the soft warmth of skin.  Roman was surprised to find himself missing that brief contact, though the pressure, the touch was still there, still fascinating some back part of his brain starved for that sort of thing.  Now awake, it wasn’t letting him rest.

“What did you say your name was?”  Came Imriel’s voice from over his back.

“I ah-“  The first time the needle hit skin was always a bit of a shock, and it cut him off for a second as the buzzing picked up,  “-ah, didn’t…Roman.”

"Roman." He repeated, over the droning buzz of the needle, "Cool name. You from around here?"

The needle wasn't nearly so painful in these spots as it had been in others before it, and he turned his face, settling his cheek more comfortably against the cushion, hands gripping loosely against the edge of the table overhead.

"No, Arizona. Been here 'bout...two months?"

"Nice.  I've never been out there, actually never been anywhere but here and Jersey. The shore, you know..."  Imriel prattled on, the gentle, conversational tone of his voice melding into the droning buzz in a relaxing pattern. It was nice, actually, Roman found.  To be spoken to and not really expected to speak back save for the occasional little question here or there he could give a quiet, monosyllabic response to.  And he found himself slowly relaxing into bonelessness, much the way Miss Victoria seemed to do when she found a patch of sunshine to laze about in.  Eyes drifting shut as he focused on the slight weight and warm pressure of Imriel's elbows and forearms resting against his back, the tickle of the waffled texture of his shirt rubbing occasionally against his ribs and side, and the soft, occasional swipe of the towel across raw flesh, wiping away excess ink and blood in light motions.

All of it was infinitely relaxing.  It felt like no time at all had passed before the buzzing ceased and he could no longer feel the weight of the other male against his back.  He pushed himself upright on elbows to glance around curiously.

"Alright, I got a bunch of new spots done and managed to touch up most of your back." Imriel was saying, his own back turned as he began cleaning up his station. Roman sat up, pushed himself to his feet and began pulling on his shirt, hat, gloves. "If you want, you could come back tonight and I'll work on some of your front pieces? I don't want you walking around with one side looking fresher than the other."

The young man glanced up with another of those slow-curling smiles, eyes almost as brilliant a green as his hair, Roman noticed with a start.

"How bout round 11ish?"

Roman hesitated for a moment, debating as he pulled his hoodie on and dropped gaze to fumble with the zipper.  It was his day off, and he really had no excuse not to.

"Y-yeah, ok." He managed to return that smile, albeit a bit lopsided and infinitely awkward, keeping his own eyes on his shoes as he shrugged into coat and began digging in his back pocket for his wallet.

"Nah, man.  Just pay when you come back, ok?"  Imriel insisted from his seat where he was peeling off gloves and wiping down the counter, tossing used odds and ends in the trash as he went. Roman stared at him a second, shocked by the level of trust, and then shrugged acceptingly.

It turned out to be a wise move on Imriel's part, as Roman might have managed to find himself an excuse not to go back out later that night, but he was far too honest not to go back and pay for the work already done. He'd already found himself half-reciting excuses in his head to just pay and leave again on his walk back to the parlor late that night.  Far too eager to get back to the safe, silent comfort of the little apartment and that kitten he'd left curled up in the pile of clean but unfolded laundry on his bed.

The outer lights of the parlor were off by the time he got there, but inside the windows a warm glow still lit the place, though it looked like only half the lights were on. Imriel was sitting behind the desk, and got up to let him in as he rapped knuckles softly against the glass door.  Roman hesitated as he held the door open.

"Are, uhm... Is the place closed?"  Dark brows drew together in a show of concern.

"Yeah, but its cool.  I don't mind after-hours appointments.  Less interruptions and stuff. Come in." Imriel's smile was insistently inviting, not the kind of thing you could really turn down, and so Roman sidled inside, side stepping away from the door to begin peeling off layers of clothing once more as Imriel locked the door behind him.

"You know where the chair is." Imriel said cheerily, turning to finish the paperwork he'd been doing at the desk before following Roman back to the same station as before.  Each artist's cubicle provided a bit of privacy from the front of the shop and the windows by several partitioning walls, all decorated in a swirling, brilliantly colored mural that made very little sense but gave you plenty to look at, which was exactly what Roman was studiously doing as he settled into the half-reclined chair this time instead of upon the flat table, leaving the pile of his clothes, beside himself on the floor, keeping his hat on.

All the same prep as before; needle, disinfectant, priming, gloves.  He found himself somewhat missing Imriel's idle chatter from earlier as he watched him run through the motions in silence.  Roman was careful this time to gather his own hair, shove it back under the soft knit cap he wore, out of the way, as Imriel turned around and scooted closer on the stool he straddled.

"Alright, chin up?"  He directed quietly.  "You already know this is going to hurt more."  He said by way of warning, and lent forward.  Roman fixed eyes hard up at the ceiling and curled hands round the tops of his own thighs- no arms on the chair to grab hold of.  He waited for the buzz of the needle and the stinging, burning pain to start, but Imriel seemed to be having some problems.

After a minute of listening to the soft, frustrated noises the other man was making, and feeling him try several different times to rearrange himself, Roman lowered his chin slightly and let eyes slide from the ceiling to his side.  Imriel's smile had tightened somewhat, pale brows drawn down slightly.

"I can't seem to....I can't get the right..."  He gave up with a hopeless laugh, that easy going expression flooding back again as he sat back in defeat.  "You're a little too tall for me, Roman!"

He rose, pushing the stool back with one foot and lent awkwardly over Roman instead, one knee balanced precariously on the edge of the chair's seat as Roman tilted his head back again, waiting for the buzz.  It was slight, that first touch of the needle, and terribly awkward at that angle.  He could hear Imriel curse softly, and shift again before the sudden sinking weight settled over his lap and Roman dropped his chin in surprise to find Imriel looking suitably apologetic.

"I'm sorry.... It's just not gonna work any other way.  Is-is this ok?"  Imriel mumbled, the words spilling out in a bit of a jumbled mess that actually curled one corner of Roman's mouth.

"Yeah...it's fine."

Imriel shifted, slid a bit closer in his straddle and that awkward tightening sensation was back in Roman's throat.  The one that had nothing to do with panic.  Arms braced against his chest, Imriel pushed a finger under his chin to tilt it back a third time.

"Alright. Take a breath, let it out slow."  He instructed quietly, and Roman did as he was bid.  It wasn't enough to stop the instinctual and automatic tension that clamped its fist around the whole of him tightly the second that needle touched his collarbone, and hands instinctually reached out, denied their grip of his own thighs they closed round Imriel's hips tightly.  Roman would have jerked away normally, flush with apology and burning red, but if he moved, if he jerked, that needle could go skittering across skin, leaving a permanent and ugly line across the front of him.  Imriel didn't make a sound at the tight grip, seemed to completely fail to acknowledge it.  And that was at least a small comfort, though Roman could still feel his cheeks burning with heat.

He loosened his grip a bit as the stinging began to dull slightly with the constant pressure, and, curious, spread fingers, flexed them wide before tightening them again, gently, slowly this time.  It earned him a gradual, subtle roll of those hips; closer, pushing tension against his groin in a way that nearly instantly had him wanting a bit more of that pressure.

He sank teeth into the inside of his lower lip and just held it for a moment.  Apparently held his breath too because with the next light swipe of the towel across his collarbone came the quiet murmur of admonishment from Imriel.

"Breathe, Roman."

He forced himself to exhale, the soft sound of it at least drowned out by the needle, he told himself.  That pressure between the push of hips was stealing every working function of his brain, though, left him unable to focus on much more than just it and his hands.  His hands.  He swallowed, drew a breath, and flexed them again, this time, however, he slid them upward, curiously, past the waist of low-slung jeans and under the hem of that thin shirt, found skin under his fingertips.  Smooth and warm, soft like brushed velvet, that tender bit of waist just around the narrow dent of hip bones.  Fingertips slid upward, ticklishly slow, and he was rewarded with a hitch in Imriel's own breathing.  A quiet little hiccup of a gasp.  And, ah, yes... Another slow roll of those hips.  Closer, tighter, this time surreptitiously hidden as an adjustment in posture as the tattooing moved to the outer rise of his shoulder.

He let his face drift toward the opposite shoulder, chin lowering slightly, and giving in to that overwhelming curiosity, pressed thumbs into the shallow divots of muscle rising up in a gradual v from the front sides of the waistband of jeans.  Stroked upward, outward till fingers spanned sides, hands well and truly buried to the wrist under the furrows of Imriel's shirt.

The buzzing of the needle ceased, and a second later he felt the pressure of the blade of the other's nose graze his jawline, breath a cool wash against his throat.  He turned toward it, eyes curious under the half-mast of lids and lashes, opening just a bit wider as Imriel caught the edge of his mouth with his own in the light brush of a kiss.  Imriel smiled all the way into it, during it, and Roman could feel the pleasant up-curve, gentle tension in the other’s mouth.  He pushed forward, wanted a second taste, and got exactly what he asked for as Imriel dove back in, bolder this time, claiming Roman's lower lip in full, sucking lightly.

The needle clattered into the tray standing nearby and gloved hands settled on either side of Roman's face before Imriel seemed to realize what he was doing, pulled back just long enough to jerk gloves off and then settle back in, reclaiming his grip as Roman tilted his face up, brilliant green hair tickling at his cheek as Imriel licked at his upper lip, his own tongue reaching out to touch, slide against the soft, slick of the one that teased at him, followed into his mouth to caress against his own.

He felt a pull and give as the hands framing his face slid back, grabbed hold of his hat and drew it off so fingers -were they shaking slightly?- could sink into the soft, black fall of his hair, gathering the length of it tightly, giving it a slight tug that dropped his jaw and broke that kiss for a second.  He could feel, rather than hear Imriel's silent chuckle at his response, the slight shudder of it running through him at the join of hips and chest, reminding him of that wonderful pressure building there between the crush of groins. He growled quietly, and hands slid up, back, sunk blunt nails into the lean muscle along either side of spine and drug down in shallow scratches.

Imriel's turn to hiss and reel back slightly, leaving Roman's mouth stinging from a bite and tug of teeth against his lower lip as he smiled upward far too shyly for someone who by all means started this.   He seized the opportunity, however, and grabbing the hem of Imriel's shirt, lent forward slightly to pull the thing up off over his head, taking his hat with it in turn, leaving bright green hair standing on end in soft static wings here and there.

Under the dark fabric those abstract peacock feather tattoos slid up both arms and rounded out over his shoulders in a brilliant wash of color. Silver barbells studded through the center of either nipple and just under the line of his collarbone, as well as a hoop just above the indent of his navel. Roman's eyes ticked upward as he lent closer, a touch of hesitance returning as he opened his mouth, tongue touching lightly at one of those silver bits pierced through a pink nub.

The taste of him was nice, clean, masculine; cheap, good smelling soap and just a hint of salt-sweat sweetness.  The way he reacted was even nicer still, chin dropping as eyes slanted shut and that constant smile going a bit wobbly at its corners as he slid arms round Roman's shoulders, returning to that hard roll of hips, this time like he meant it, riding against him in a grind that had him pushing back into it as best he could, hands curling round, sliding into the open gap at the back of jeans as if he’d drag them closer together if he could. 

He drew that little silver barbell between teeth tugging turning into a lighter suction, Imriel making quiet, strangled sounds of encouragement above him, Roman’s eyes still turned up to watch the change of his expression, Imriel’s mouth dropping open as fingers raked up against the back of his scalp.  That was, until they fell to push palms against Roman’s chest, shove him back against the seat once more and slid lower, yanked open button of black jeans and peeled down fly, just enough to push the flat of his palm against his stomach, one shoulder arching upward as he shoved hand in, up to the wrist. 

Fingers cupped, stroked, increased that constriction and added a friction to it that had his stomach tightening into one massive, wonderful knot and breath hitching in his throat.  Warm lips pushed against his ear, tickled with a whisper.

“Breathe, Roman.”

Fingers curled round him and pulled him free, zipper slitting the rest of the way open against Imriel’s wrist.  He could hear that quiet hum of appreciation as the grip of fingers stroked up the stone-hard ache of his cock, and a thumb slid itself over the slit of him, already leaking, smearing the clear gloss of it  across smooth skin, slicking itself before sliding back to tease the sensitive point just at the join of ridge and head. 

The noise that came out of him in a rush of breath caught itself somewhere between a whimper and a groan, and he turned his face to catch at the one beside it, biting lightly, blindly at cheek, jaw…until he found that grinning mouth again and made his plea with kisses instead of words.  Begging _yes please, yes, don’t stop,_ with gently hungry tugs and a tongue that couldn’t keep to itself.  Imriel was a bit rougher with his returns, and those two little hoops in his lip made themselves known more than once.

He could hear the sound of a second zipper, but it was a good long second before the next sensation registered itself and he broke the contact of mouths to glance down.  Imriel had pulled himself out,  and straddled this close, had grasped both their cocks together, was back to rolling hips, grinding them against each other as the span of his hand held them close, worked as best it could to keep the tight constriction of them both together as he stroked in tandem. 

The sight of that cock pressed against his own, leaking just as eagerly as he was, the slick wet of it messily dripping over its edge and running down himself, over those long fingers that held them together was enough to have him drawing breath sharply, hips bucking once as he wrapped one of his own hands round them as well, over Imriel’s. 

Head rocked back as the tempo picked up, heartbeat thudding like a timpani against the inside of his head, and he nearly panicked with the sudden, inexorable tension that gripped thighs, the pit of his stomach, tightened balls until he felt he was going to explode or die, and god, he didn’t want to go yet, not yet not –

“Roman.  Roman.”  

The voice at his ear seemed oddly calm for the moment. 

“Roman?  Hey, man.  We’re done.”

He opened eyes, blinked and found the world blurry, blinked again.  No chair, no delicious weight straddled over his lap.  No, he was laying on his stomach, the pillow against his cheek slightly damp, that beautiful boy beside him fully clothed and lightly shaking his shoulder with one hand as he set aside his needle with the other.

“You fell asleep, man. “  Imriel smiled over his shoulder as he began disassembling things, cleaning up.  “I thought for a second you passed out but then you started snoring sort of, so I figured you were ok.  Anyway, you’re all done.  I finished the back and just touched up a few, the color on most is still good though.”

Roman drew a shuddering breath and thanked god and any other deities he could think of that he hadn’t been talking in his sleep too – and also that he was lying face down for the moment.  He was going to need another moment more before getting up was even an option.

When Imriel leaned over him to stroke the cool salve of ointment across his raw back with careful fingers, it didn’t help.  He shoved his chin hard into the cushion and bit at the edge of his tongue, willing the flush he could feel burning in cheeks and that insistent stiffness underneath his hips to both _go away._

“I think it turned out good, managed to match your previous work pretty closely.” Imriel carried on, blissfully unaware of the mighty struggle happening just under his nose.  He jerked his chin toward a full length mirror toward the one corner of the cubicle.  “Go take a look.”

Roman took his time getting up, the feigned stiffness of sleep a good excuse, kept his back to the artist as he tugged at the loose hold of dark jeans and turned toward the mirror, glancing over his shoulder.  Imriel had done a fantastic job, brought the dappled spots to a point down almost to the start of his mid-back, and melded them perfectly with the old ones.  He caught a glimpse of the artist watching him in the mirror, and something about the gentle smile sent his heart clenching hard before it began to pound out of control in a rush of panic. 

“Yeahlooksgreatthanks!”   He managed to get out in a tumble as he turned to grab his clothes, pulling them on roughly as he headed for the door, Imriel trailing after him a few paces behind.  He tossed cash upon the counter at the pierced girl, ignoring her befuddlement as he yanked on hoodie and coat at the same time and practically ran out the door, Imriel’s voice calling out a thanks, and come back soon behind him, under the clang of that bell.

“The hell did you do to him, Imri?”  Asked Jess, watching the tall young man dive into the rush of people on the sidewalk and disappear.   He lent upon the counter and shrugged, watching with her.

“Damned if I know…”


	2. Roman and Imriel smutty goodtimes, take 2 electric bogaloo I suck at titles, guys.  make up your own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Roman goodness for Grimmy u3u <3
> 
> nothing about this is SFW

The loud buzz of his phone melted into the music of his ringtone for the fourth time before Roman finally cracked one eye open and reached for the glowing screen across the bed.

“Mmmf.”   He blinked, lifted his head to glance at the number on the screen before swiping a thumb across the green bar at the bottom and putting it to his ear.  “ ‘lo?”

“You are unbelievable, man.   What are you doin?   I’ve been calling for the past fifteen minutes.  I’m outside and we’ve got to get going if we’re gonna make this concert, alright?”  Bailey’s reproachful tone came out the earpiece of the phone.  Roman yawned, felt the warm ball of fur curled up against his lower back stir slightly.

“Sorry.  Just gotta…”  He flexed bare feet, felt the soft weight of a tangle of sheets and blankets round his waist and bare legs.  “…gotta get dressed.”

“Well buzz me in, dude, its freezing.”   There was a soft click as Bailey hung up, and Roman groaned as he tossed his phone back on the bed, burying his face in a pillow for a moment before planting elbows in the mattress and lifting shoulders.  On his Back Miss Victoria moved.  Sunk the tips of claws in disapprovingly as her favorite warm bed began to shift under her.

“I know baby, but I gotta go.”  He murmured, lifting himself up slowly, giving her enough time to adjust to the idea and finally hop down, only to curl right back up in the wonderfully warm spot he’d just vacated.  Not before making about a dozen quiet mrrrrowl’s of protest, though. 

He stroked a hand round the curve of her back and wandered across the small efficiency toward the door to jamb thumb against the button beside the door that buzzed open the locked entrance downstairs on street level.  He held it long enough to be content that Bailey had made it in, then undid the locks on his own door so the guy could let himself inside.   Turning back into his apartment he bent, grabbed a pair of black jeans off the floor and stepped into them, teetering as he got one leg in and then the other, still off balance with sleep.

He pulled the pants up round hips but failed to close them, and made his way to the bathroom to glance blearily in the mirror.  As he splashed his face with cold water he could hear the door open and close, heavy footsteps followed by the territorial “MROW” of the cat as she roused herself to greet the visitors for inspection. 

“Hello Miss.  Promise we aren’t staying.  You don’t need to shred my shoelaces again, alright?”  Came Bailey’s muffled voice from the other room.   Roman uncapped the bottle of mouthwash, swished a bit till it burned, and spat, grabbing a towel to scrub the water off his face as he wandered back into the living quarters/bedroom. 

“This is Miss Victoria,”  Bailey was explaining to a second man who was crouched on the floor, rubbing a knuckle against one of the kitten’s bright white cheeks as she sat before him, clearly finding this offering homage and worship acceptable, her eyes slanting into pleased little lines,  front paws resting on the toe of one of the stranger’s boots.  “She runs the joint, so behave.”

“Haha!  Clearly.”  Responded the other, in a voice somehow familiar.  Roman froze, face half out of the towel he held, pants slung open round his waist threatening to fall off completely as they slunk an inch lower.  The wrist of that hand that was now smoothing the top of Miss Victoria’s head was covered in bright, verdant greens, slushing washes of blue and purple…and the hair peeking out from under the black cap on that bent head was a matching shade of brilliant green. 

Roman was pretty sure he knew what a heart attack felt like as that face turned up and a familiar smile blossomed into a wide, friendly show of teeth as Imriel caught sight of him. 

“Hey Roman, there you are.  I was just introducing Imriel here to your dragon – I mean cat.”  Bailey chuckled.  He was tall, gorgeously dark skinned to the point that would have made coffee jealous, the rich tone of skin setting off the bits of silver he wore between eyebrows, through the septum of his nose, and in both deep dimples of his cheeks. 

Imriel rose, shoving hands back into the pockets of the black down vest he wore over the softness of a pale blue hoodie.  Miss Victoria was having none of it, clearly displeased the petting had come to an abrupt end as she began circling his leg, rubbing against it in little headbutts with insistent, low yowls.  The kind that said _reach down here again and I’ll maul you but only because you stopped in the first place_.  Imriel wasn’t biting, still smiling at Roman, who looked like he’d frozen into a pillar of salt.

“Hi, Roman.”  Smile softened as he dropped his gaze, reached up unconsciously to push a shock of green back behind one ear.  It had a small white tusk gauge through it, Roman’s brain somehow managed to register.  He’d missed that before.  Of course he had.  He’d been asleep.  Dreaming about… oh dear god.

Suddenly galvanized, he snapped back into motion, tossed towel onto his bed and turned his back to zip up pants so quick he _nearly_ caught himself in them, and even then managed to catch the edge of underwear, had to fight the zipper back down and redo it, keenly aware he was hopping slightly and looking like an idiot.  Wait.  He had to respond, didn’t he?  Shit.  He glanced back over his shoulder as he unhunched himself, and bent to grab the softness of a worn grey shirt, the v-neck of it deep cut enough to display the mottled dapple of leopard spots from throat to the top of chest.

“Hi.”  He managed to mutter, pulling fabric over his head roughly. 

Bailey glanced between the pair of them, brows furrowing. 

“Wait, do you guys know each other?”

Roman shrugged, busy snapping a leather cuff round one wrist and digging for that usual black knit cap of his.  Which apparently had chosen the one night his hair refused to act agreeably to disappear. 

“Yeah, I got to do some work on Roman a few weeks ago.” Imriel stepped up to fill in the gaps, still wearing that constant soft curve of a smile.  Miss Victoria had given up getting any further pettings as a lost cause and meandered back toward the mess of a bed that Roman had just sank down upon, jamming his feet into shoes.  She leapt up beside him and watched him through slit eyes, judgingly, like she had a secret she wasn’t ready to share.  Whiskers pushed forward as she chuffed softly at him.

“Yeah I know.”  He murmured, and ran hand gently over the smooth top of her head before bending to push a kiss against it.  She half-ducked the affection, as usual, before pushing up into it, as if she had to make him think she didn’t want it before she relented.  He rose and pulled on hoodie, drew the hood up and shrugged on his coat.  “Be good, baby.”

_“Rowr.”_

The three of them filed out, Imriel and Bailey waiting for Roman to lock the door behind himself before they all tromped down the stairs and back out into the cold, Bailey and Imriel chatting about Roman’s tattoos, Bailey laughing over the fact that Roman had fallen asleep on the table, a tidbit Imriel let slip a bit guiltily, stealing a glance at Roman with an apologetic smile.  Roman tried his best to ignore them both completely, in his rather misguided fashion of playing it cool. 

He lit a cigarette as they waited at the bus stop, air cold enough to make breath as thick as the smoke he exhaled, slow curling tendrils licking up around in him lazy patterns that the wind every so often whipped away when it picked up with the passing traffic.  When he lifted eyes and let them stray toward Imriel it felt like a shock to the system to find green eyes peering back, the curve of that smile and entire expression still that bemused, slightly curious one it had been in the tattoo parlor.  The one that had sent him running out the door.  Made him want to turn and run into traffic now.  Instead, he managed a slight smile back.  A fleeting, fitful thing, gone as quick as it came as eyes turned back to the sidewalk and he crushed cigarette under foot as the bus pulled up.  Brakes squealing, diesel fumes replacing the scent of snow for a moment as the door squeaked and slammed open. 

Inside, they each claimed their own row of two seats, much to Roman’s comfort, Bailey sidling in first, him taking the second and Imriel behind him.  It wasn’t ideal, being in the middle, had Bailey turned round and that annoyingly beautiful green-eyed boy leaning forward to talk as Roman pressed his back against the glass of the window and stuck a long leg out over the seat beside him, discouraging interlopers. 

Imriel had his chin resting upon the second seatback in Roman’s row, one hand gripped loosely against the ledge of it, his other arm half draped over the seat, hanging loosely about a foot in front of Roman as he was cracking up at Bailey’s story of the god-awful amateurs that had come in to play at the café last night.  Even Roman had to smile to himself.  They _had_ been terrible, and hysterically so.  Off pitch in ways that should have been illegal, forgetting entire choruses.  The drummer had clearly been way too nervous and had himself too many shots in order to calm down.  Had tipped his one snare clean over halfway through their last song.  The crashing and banging was pretty much what ended the set – mercifully.

“So then the crowd wanted you to get back up?”  He jerked slightly at the question Imriel pointed at him, lost in replaying the scene in his mind.  He could feel a dull heat creeping up out of the low collar of his shirt, but nodded.

“Yeah.”

“That’s awesome.  I mean, yeah ok those guys sucked, you don’t have to be Carlos Santana to get called back after that, but still.  They must’ve liked ya.” 

Roman shrugged, tore eyes from the impressed smile as it was only increasing that sensation of heat crawling up his throat toward his face, let them drift back to the hand dangling before him.  Elegantly long fingered, fine boned.  Knuckles that looked like they’d never been in a fight, though there was the long, faded slice of a pale scar that ran between middle and ring finger all the way back toward wrist in a thin line.  It was the hand he’d shaken when they first met, small silver barbell set in the webbing of its thumb.  He pulled one corner of his lower lip in, chewing thoughtfully upon it, and in a sudden rush of bravery, reached out and touched the little silver ball at the top of it. 

Imriel didn’t even break his conversation with Bailey at the touch – they were still prattling on about the second set Roman had played, Bailey enthusiastically describing it as ‘panty-dropping’ much to Roman’s chagrin – and only flexed his thumb away from the rest of his hand obligingly.  He wore a ring round that thumb, Roman noted, the dull metallic shade of titanium shaped in just a simple band with a black line running its circumference.   Roman’s own forefinger and thumb closed on either side of the odd little piercing and toyed with it curiously, gave it a wiggle up and down to see it slide against the skin. 

“Like it?  Hurt less than getting my ears done.” Imriel said, startling his gaze upward again, as if he’d forgotten that accommodating hand was attached to a person.  He managed the bare tick of another smile and went back to examining the little thing, tugging it just lightly.  He felt fingertips ghost the outsides of his knuckles.  Once could have been accident, but the second time definitely was not.  He pulled his hand back carefully and turned attention toward Bailey and his animated retelling now of the last time he’d been to the venue they were headed toward, studiously attempting to ignore the young man hanging over the back of his seat so hard it almost hurt.

It was a solid hour before they reached their destination, with traffic and all the bus stops making the trip twice as long at least as it needed to be.   Half the occupants of the bus tumbled off with them, and the whole lot of them began to walk in a loosely grouped crowd the next few blocks toward the massive, disused warehouse-turned-club.  The line to get inside was moving quickly enough, but Bailey took them past it anyway, greeted one of the bouncers with a friendly shout and a few hard-slapped, grasping handshakes turned to the bump of shoulders in loose hugs later, they were in.  The little bit of money that exchanged hands hadn’t hurt either. 

It was hot inside, music already thudding hard through the sound system as a DJ spun, priming the crowd before the actual music began, the mass of bodies within moving like one giant beast.  The best part about the venue, as Bailey had described it, was that from the ground floor all the way up to the tall rafters, it was all open air.  Multitudes of steel staircases ran upward, leading to broad, suspended catwalks that cut through the space above in concentric squares where stories ought to have been, so that everyone above could still see everything below. 

Roman unzipped his hoodie against the steam heat of the place as Bailey dove into the crowd, headed for the bar.  Imriel headed in after him and Roman brought up the rear.  He wasn’t the best at getting through crowds, disliked people up in his personal space enough to not want to be so rude as to invade theirs, though with his height and the breadth of shoulders he could get away with a lot more than some others.  Imriel was quicker though, cutting through openings like threading a needle.  Roman could see him glance back on occasion, as if he was worried he might lose him, and eventually when they ran up against a blockade of people much closer to the bar, Imriel stalled.  Bailey had already gotten through and was standing by the diamond-plate steel bartop, craning his neck as he searched the crowd for the pair of them. 

“Here!”  Imriel shouted over the music, reaching out to catch Roman’s wrist in his grasp, hauling him along toward the narrow gap between people he’d found.  Roman just did his best to keep up, arm outstretched as he was pulled forward.  He felt Imriel’s grip loosen, felt a pang of panic that he’d lose him in the crush, but found it only released enough to slide down, grasp his hand instead in a sure grip, thumb nestled gently against the hollow of his wrist.  Green eyes glanced back and he caught the flash of a broad smile. 

Two seconds later and he drew up to a full stop in order to avoid plowing the shorter male over.  A line of girls were cutting through, blocking passage as they danced their way past, holding aloft drinks they’d no doubt had to wait a half hour for at the bar, whooping and laughing like overjoyed banshees.  Roman watched more than one of them toss a grin Imriel’s way, and a really bold one winked as she pressed fingertips to his cheek on her way past. 

Like with most things, Imriel didn’t seem phased in the least, grinning through it in that unshakably warm way of his, though Roman did notice the soft stroke of that thumb over his own in a light metronome sweep.  Once, twice…it stalled, and then a third time before it settled back against his wrist and they were plowing forward again.  The fight of another few feet and they were at Bailey’s side again, Imriel dropping the contact of hands to shrug out of vest and hoodie, handing both over to Bailey who in turn passed them over the bar toward yet another friend of his working behind it.  Roman followed suit, peeling off hoodie and coat and giving them up, glad to be rid of their stifling weight and pleased not to have to coat check them either.  He lifted hands to comb fingers back through the dark, stick-straight hair that fell to his shoulders, gathering it back in a useless mess of a ponytail before releasing it. 

The second coats were handed over a round of shots hit the bar and Roman groaned softly.  Bailey liked the hard shit, and he had no tolerance for it.  Didn’t ever drink on his own and wasn’t much the type for hitting up the bars after hours with the crew from work.  He knew better than to turn it down however, reaching over Imriel’s shoulder to scoop up his shot and after a clink of all three cheap plastic shot glasses, tossed it back.  The liquor burned like fire for a second before it gentled, became warm fingers sliding down and spreading out inside him.  Even the taste wasn’t half bad, honey-whiskey fire with a hint of sweet, tart apple on the finish.  Washington Apple?  Maybe.  Seemed familiar.  There was a second one waiting for him by the time he set the glass back on the bar. 

Thankfully the shots stopped after that, though a round of beer came next.  He was glad that Bailey knew him well enough to know he hated the stuff, and the longneck that slid his way was hard cider instead.  The taste of it went well with the apple still lingering against his tongue, alcohol already softening him at the edges, making the world pleasantly blurry in the corners and curling warm in the pit of his stomach.

The three of them backed away from the bar, cutting out into the crowd again in an unspoken agreement  that it was time to clear away from the crush of others trying to get their drinks.  Bailey led the way toward one of the staircases leading upward to the first level of suspended catwalks, and the other two followed, pace slowed by the milling crowd.  Roman stuck close behind Imriel, who’d kept his hat on, and without his hoodie and vest was wearing a plaid button-up in dark shades, its sleeves rolled to just below his elbows, and tight jeans worn to the point skin showed through against the tops of his thighs in places.  One back pocket had been ripped clear away, and the darker stained fabric where it used to be had been worn to the point that you could almost catch a glimpse of bright blue underwear just underneath. 

Of course he noticed this little detail as they were on their way up the stairs, Imriel climbing ahead of him, one hand trailing on the railing as they made their way steadily upwards.  Roman’s hand still prickled pleasantly a bit from being held, and he rubbed that bit of his thumb and wrist that had been given a slight caress thoughtfully against the outside of his thigh, not to erase the sensation, just…testing.  He was going to do some serious damage to the one edge of his lower lip with all the biting it was getting, and he gave it up, taking a long swallow of cider as they climbed, found themselves forced to pause for a moment on the first small landing.  People crowded up behind him and he stepped up the last stair onto the landing directly behind Imriel.

A large group was descending, and everyone crowded to one side to make room, Roman finding the warm weight of the shorter man leaning back against him lightly, that soft, dark knit hat just beside his chin.  He couldn’t breathe for a second, but that worrisome back part of his brain, clearly starved for touch by his painful level of comforting self-isolation, wasn’t having any of it; had him leaning into the full body contact. 

Someone jostled against him and the hand not holding the bottle reached for the railing at his side automatically.  Of course it came down directly atop Imirel’s.  Of course.  For a second Roman entertained the idea of flinging himself over the edge of the railing and ending his insufferably awkward existence.  What the hell was going on?  He was trying _very_ hard not to recall that dream he’d had on the table in the tattoo parlor.  _VERY hard._ When the fingers under his spread so that his own slid between them in a light lacing, he thankfully had no thought processes left to entertain memory – had to use each surviving neuron just to remember how to swallow without choking.  But they were moving forward again and that hand had slid out from under his, its owner infuriatingly unaware, not even so much as a glance backward. 

Roman took another long drink. 

Up on the balcony the broad catwalk made space opened up a bit, and while Bailey and Imriel lent in half seats against one far railing, Roman opted to go stand at the one on the opposite side, elbows supporting his weight, that bottle dangling from the fingers of one hand as he watched the patterns of the crowd moving below, listened to the music thudding through the massive space like one giant, shared heartbeat.

Behind his back, Bailey gave Imriel’s side a dig with one elbow, earning himself a curious glance from the other.  He upnodded in Roman’s direction.

“What you doin, man?”

Imriel followed the direction of his nod, that constant casual smile of his breaking into something a bit broader as he dropped his gaze to his shoes and shrugged slightly.

“I dunno.  Nothing.”

“Yeah, ok, nothing.”  Bailey replied, not buying any of it. “Look man, do what you want, you know I don’t give a damn, but I think you’re setting yourself up for disappointment alright?  Roman’s cool and everything but he’s a fucking sphinx.  You’d get more response out of a house plant.  You’ve never seen the levels of anti-social he can achieve.”

Imriel glanced up, that gentle smile unaffected as eyes strayed toward the bent back and its worn grey shirt across the way, fabric hitching up with the lean as black jeans were making a break for lower hips, leaving a slash of lower back visible with the deep divot of dimples just above the line of underwear. 

“I don’t think he’s anti-social.  Just kinda shy.  Quiet.”  He lifted a shoulder in another careless shrug and took a long swing off the beer he held.  “There’s nothing wrong with that.  Not everyone’s a social butterfly like you.” 

Green eyes cut toward Bailey only to find the guy was leaning away, grinning at a group of girls clustered nearby, giving one of them the smarmiest of nods as she kept glancing over her shoulder at him.  Imriel chuckled softly.

“Or should I say social mosquito?”

“Huh?  Yeah man, whatever.  Just figured I’d warn ya.”  Bailey spared his friend a glance as he pushed off the railing and finished his own beer.  “But by all means, knock yourself out. “

He paused, turned and pushed a pointed finger into one of Imriel’s shoulders.

“And listen.  That cat of his, alright?  He’d fucking fling you in a fire if you look at her crossways, and he’d run out into rush hour traffic for that furball-with-attitude before he’d even consider lifting a finger to help you.  She might be a cute little ball of lint, but she will eff your day up.”

Imriel was dying, snerking into his beer, bright eyes narrowed in amusement at the other man’s utter seriousness. 

“I’ll keep it in mind.  Thanks.”  

Bailey backed away, keeping that finger pointed at him warningly, expression comically, deadly serious before it broke out into that shit-eating grin he thought the ladies found so charming as he bounced, crossed feet and turned in one smooth dance move to bob over toward that cluster of girls, greeting them loudly.  Imriel rolled eyes heavenward. 

Down below the band was setting up on the stage, Roman watching the progress roadies were making in between peeling the label off his near empty bottle.  It took a slight nudge of a shoulder against his own to realize Imriel had joined him in watching the crowd beneath them.  Dark brows fled upward slightly as he spared the man beside him a glance.  Alcohol was never his thing, and right now he was feeling deliciously warm, loose-limbed and just a bit hazy from the small quantity he’d already had.  He could feel his mouth curve in imitation to the smile that greeted him, and managed not to jerk his gaze away quickly this time, enjoying the pleasant angles and shape of Imriel’s face without that suffocating feeling of panicked heat creeping up on him or closing his throat in a tight knot.  It was nice, and it made that smile spread a bit wider.

“Hey.”  Yeah, he even managed to speak.

“Hey.  Band’s setting up.  Wanna head back down, see if we can’t get a decent spot near the stage?”

Normally Roman would have been perfectly content to hang where he was, out of the suffocating crush, but he found himself nodding agreeably instead, pushing off the rail he lent on.

“Yeah, ok.”

“Cool.”  Imriel nodded toward the bottle with half its label hanging off.  “Almost done?  Me too.  Let’s grab some more.  We’re gonna have to get by without Bailey’s help though.”

Roman followed the direction of green eyes as they flicked toward their mutual friend, now neck deep in the group of girls, clearly entertaining them deeply and in his element.  He laughed softly. 

“Alright.”

When he turned back it was to find Imriel gazing up at him with that same unreadable expression he’d seen in the mirror at the shop.  Something about it very close to thoughtful consideration, that smile gone gentle in a way that was far more enticing than it ought to have been.  Like you _wanted_ to kiss it to force whatever thoughts were going on under that smooth surface to either stop, or else make themselves known.  He drew a breath involuntarily and blinked, head canting to one side in question.  But that look was gone in an instant, replaced with the sunshine of a show of teeth before Imriel spun and lead their trek back down to the bar.

They managed alright without their fearless leader, though it took a bit longer to catch the bartender’s attention then before.  Roman hung back, watched Imriel  plant hands on the edge of the bar top, hoist himself up and half over to shout his request into the bartender’s ear over the roar of the crowd as the band was introduced. 

 Roman turned around, rocked up on toes a bit and craned neck to watch the distant stage over the crowd.  He still startled when Imriel popped up at his side, but managed to grin as the other laughed it off carelessly, pushing yet another shot into one hand and a bottle into the other.  Glasses lifted toward each other then tilted back.  Roman hissed and winced.  That one was a lot stronger and not nearly as sweet.  He pressed the back of his hand against his chin, wiping at a stray drop before tossing the plastic cup at the nearby trash can.  Imriel was laughing, had a hold of his wrist and was hauling him into the crowd.  Everything felt wonderful, and he followed in tow clumsily, pulling in sips at the bottle he had to get that taste out of his mouth and ease the burn.

They managed to sort out places for themselves close enough to have a bit of a view, lost in the sea of people around them.  The band was fantastic, and Imriel turned out to be an incredibly enthusiastic dancer, had Roman cracking up in spite of himself.  He wasn’t bad – not at all! - and the people around him seemed to feed off that energy, joining in gleefully.  He had more than one partner come up and join in, and Roman did his best to ignore the strange little pangs of jealousy as one girl managed to corner him just before a slower, more sultry song started.  Watching as over-enthused jumping settled into something far more intimate as she slung arms round Imriel’s shoulders and his hands spanned either side of the small of her back, holding her close enough to make that slow grind something to crave. 

Song ended though, and he released her, shaking his head at some shouted question or another she directed into his ear, shrugging slightly as she pouted and backed off, going back to the wild tempo of the music, one hand in the air, shouting with the crowd as they went nuts for a stage dive someone had just done.  Outside of that, Roman was actually having a blast, the wonderful buzz dissolving that awful edge that crowds usually put him on, and yeah, he danced too.  It was hard not to in that constantly moving crush, rhythm infectious. 

He was winded by the time the set ended and the DJ came back on, bottle empty in his hand, feeling heavy between fingers.  Laughing, Imriel reached for him, sweat sticking the wisps of green hair that peeked out from under his hat to his forehead, face flushed.  He reached back, and the grasp of fingers felt slick with the heat.  They were headed back toward the bar and Roman felt the world tilt slightly.  Another drink was out of the question.  The concern proved to be pointless, though, as Imriel waved a hand over the crowd and the bartender bent, dug their things out from under the bar and handed them over.  Roman caught his hoodie and coat as it was passed back to him and watched the other man pull out a phone, its blue light illuminating his face as he tapped away on it with both thumbs before sliding it back in his pocket and nodding toward the door questioningly.  Roman nodded quickly in return and soon enough they were both outside.  Chill air licked pleasantly at overheated skin, the sudden quiet leaving ears buzzing. 

“Bailey’s gonna stay a bit longer.  You ready to get out of here, though?”  Imriel was asking.  Roman felt like he was swaying slightly in his stance, had to focus on each word more than normal.  He smiled sleepily.

“Yeah, definitely.” 

 Imriel’s grin felt contagious, and Roman’s cheeks ached a little bit, not nearly so used to the permanence of that expression.   A yellow cab pulled up – he couldn’t remember watching the other wave for it – and they piled in. 

The trip back to the neighborhood took half the time, traffic thinner and none of those stops the bus had to make slowing them down, but it was still a good half hour.  Roman lazed bonelessly against the seat, long legs open in a careless sprawl.  One of Imriel’s knees was brushing against his own with each bump of the taxi, and at some point Roman found himself toying with the destroyed leg of his jeans, just over the top of his thigh, tugging at the loose strings of it absently as Imriel sank his own attention into the screen of his phone once more, thumbs tapping away at it every so often. 

They both spilled out of the cab when it pulled up in front of Roman’s building, and he shoved dollars at the driver, hoping that had been a twenty and not a fifty.  Had to look twice to be sure.  Yeah, a twenty.  Imriel stood outside in the cold, hands buried in the pockets of his thick black vest, shoulders up around his ears as the wind picked up bitterly.  The cab pulled away and Roman hesitated on the sidewalk.  He was definitely swaying a bit, could feel it, but couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“You, uhm.  You want to come up?”  He asked quietly, and was shocked by the rush of pleasure he felt at Imriel’s silent nod.

It was a damn good thing, too, because the effort it took to find his door key among the others on his chain, and then get it into the lock proved difficult at best.  After about three tries he felt a hand close around his own, steadier, and guide it home before it fell away, its brother lingering against his lower back.  Cheeks stung a little bit in embarrassment, and he shoved the door open, held it for Imriel to follow him in and up the steps, three flights to his door.  This one he got on his own, thank god, and tumbled happily into his small apartment with a quiet sigh of relief, leaving Imriel to shut the door behind himself. 

Roman had, as ever, left one light on, the warm, dim light of it softened further by the haphazard drape of a scarf over the shade.  Miss Victoria was sound asleep, only the small curve of her back visible in the nest of a sweater left upon the windowsill near the end of the couch, the quiet sounds of contented purring reverberating with each short exhalation. 

He was busy toeing shoes off one by one and dropping coat and hoodie on the floor carelessly when he heard the quiet voice behind him, wondered if maybe he’d missed it the first time and it was repeating itself as he turned.

“Roman?”

He turned to find Imriel standing there, near the door, looking a bit lost, unsure, as he reached up and tugged his hat off, beautiful green hair left standing on end in odd places, long bangs still sticking to his forehead damply.  He offered up a faltering version of that slight smile, letting it grow as teeth drew in and released his lower lip slowly.

“Hey.”

Roman was across the room before he knew what happened,  had Imriel’s face between his hands, and felt the jarring impact as they both wound up against the door, the shorter boy’s back pressed against it as his hands balled into fists with the sides of Roman’s shirt in their grasp, breath jumping out of him in surprise.  Roman closed the open part it made of Imriel’s mouth with his own,  hesitant hunger evident in the way his mouth closed over Imriel’s upper lip in an eager, brief suckle, and he almost instantly pulled back.  Imriel clearly wasn’t having any of that, though, using his grip on that threadbare shirt to jerk him back, claim his lower lip and set teeth into it lightly.  Catch and release, tongue touching tongue in a slow drag the next time mouths opened.

It felt electric, sensation crackling down to the pit of Roman’s stomach where a nest of butterflies had kicked up in a riot.  He swallowed hard, hands falling from their frame of face to grab hold of the zipper on Imriel’s hoodie and yank it open, harder than was necessary, alcohol making him clumsy as he slid hands under the weight of hoodie and vest and shoved both down shoulders.  The pair of them wrestled a bit in their grasp, Imriel shaking off clothes in a hurry, Roman trying to get hands round him, under the curve of his backside, grabbing a tight hold of jeans and backside in a grasp that had the other grunting surprise as he was lifted, pushed back against that door hard against the pin of hips Roman pressed forward.

 Between the constriction of clothes and the way Imriel ground hips back against him, Roman felt on the verge of knees buckling, the delicious friction against flesh that had gone achingly hard a little too much to handle so suddenly. Imriel’s arms were resting hard over his shoulders, hands buried in his hair, fingers gathering handfuls, tugging gently as his warm mouth was doing terrible, wonderful things at his throat.  His own hands spanned the other’s ribs, helping to pin him up as he felt legs wrap tight round his waist.  Another rolling push of Imriel’s hips combined with the sucking, biting pinch of teeth just under his ear, and Roman lost his footing, knees buckling sending them both into a slow motion slide down to the floor.  It left Imriel straddling his lap as he knelt, tugging buttons loose, not happy till he could get hands inside that warm flannel shirt, against skin still damp from dancing.  Thumbs brushed over the shallow rise of nipples and he jerked in shock to find that both actually _were_ pierced.  He toyed across the silver studs of them again and was rewarded with a quiet growl of appreciation against his ear. 

“Roman…”   He pulled back slightly, enough to bring Imriel’s face into focus as he struggled to catch his breath.  The other boy looked punch drunk, sucking at his own lower lip like someone with a guilty secret.  Roman could feel hands on his face, and let eyes drift shut as gentle fingertips traced down his temples, thumbs finding the rise of cheekbones.  He released a shuddering breath as fingertips found his mouth in a light touch, drew his lower lip down slightly, wet skin catching against dry.  He had no idea how he looked, truly.  Eyes shut, mouth opening under that touch, brows drawing slowly toward one another… but he could feel, could hear Imriel’s breath hitch slightly, and a second later the other boy had pushed forward, rocked hard enough to send them both toppling to the floor, leaving Roman on the bottom, feet flat on the floor and knees bent up at right angles. 

Imriel planted  hands, pushed himself upright enough to trace the tip of his tongue in one long, warm pass from the hollow between leopard-dappled pectorals  up, over collarbone and along the long, long line of Roman’s throat.  The softly strangled groan he earned made him laugh softly and bite at the sharp point of the quiet boy’s chin.  Hips lifted and he pushed back hard against them.  Roman made a sound like dying, and all he could do was smile.  Smile and reach to shove the hem of the grey shirt upward as he sat back to survey the landscape.  God yes.  He’d gotten a look, back at the shop, and this second time around was no disappointment either.  A hand braced against the floor lifted, only to close itself over Roman’s throat in a grip – light enough not to do harm, but forceful enough to keep him exactly where he was as Imriel dipped down, one long, sinuous move that ended in a slow grind of the building pressure between them, his own cock making him very painfully aware that jeans this tight were not always a great idea. 

He could ignore it for the time being, long enough to let mouth and hand enjoy the playground of Roman’s chest and stomach, biting little lines, tracing the shallow divot of muscle with tongue.  Roman was squirming, back arching into the heat of his mouth and cool wash of breath with short, shuddering breaths that were driving him a bit mad, those broad hands of his painfully tight against the tops of Imriel’s thighs.  He pushed himself up, hand releasing its grasp, its palm hitting the floor to catch his weight as his other one flattened itself against Roman’s stomach and sliiiiiiid down, wrist deep inside the confines of pants.  Curled fingers round his cock – christ, he had a bit of girth to him – and tightened, pulling in one long stroke from base to head as he bit a kiss against Roman’s jaw, got him to turn face toward him.

Bright blues slanted open, and for all the world that handsome expression looked beautifully pained, pleading.  Imriel loved it.  His hand corkscrewed slightly on its way back down and Roman’s mouth dropped open, hips rising into the caress as he panted breathlessly.  Imriel licked at his lower lip, close enough to share breath, those narrowed green eyes looking all shades of wicked as he picked up the pace a bit, doing the best he could with pants still fastened and rubbing against the outside of his forearm.  He sucked a little kiss off the wetness his tongue had left behind.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”  He murmured slyly, brows lifting as Roman’s hand caught his arm on its way back up, stopped him.  Roman shook his head slightly, pulled Imriel’s hand out of his pants – god that took effort – and brought it to his mouth, drew the tip of fore and middle fingers into his mouth with a light suckle, tongue toying at the cleft between the two digits before he let them slide back out from between his lips.  He dropped the grip of that hand and reached instead to catch Imriel’s jaw in the span of fingers and thumb with a rough little grip, elbow pushing himself off the floor as he drove upward for another kiss, this one harder, deeper, tongue delving in to play.

Not that Imriel minded the kiss, not at all!  But the denial and the way Roman had pulled his hand away had him wrestling a bit with frustration.  He _would_ have developed a hardcore crush on a virgin.  Ought to have known, really, with that painful shyness.  Mind began to grapple with the idea that perhaps this was going to take a bit of time and patience, when Roman shifted, rolled them both, and broke that kiss to sit up, kneeling between Imriel’s spread thighs.  The shorter boy groaned quietly in want where he lay, displeased to find the warmth and weight of the other gone.

Roman’s next move had him shocked though, the sharp hook of thumbs under his knees that lifted them and pushed them back, bending Imriel double before he scooped an arm round the bend between thighs and waist and hoisted him upward, left just shoulders and head resting upon the floor, arms sprawled backward in surprise at being lifted and drug, brilliant hair fanning out in a mess, eyes wide, thighs splayed in ways that were all kinds of inappropriate, feet in the air.  The humid heat of breath against the seam of jeans that ran along the cleft of his ass surprising him, but not as much as the nuzzling pressure of Roman’s face pushing into that vulnerable area did.  All he could see from his angle was the dark fall of Roman’s long hair and his eyes, shut in enjoyable concentration as he opened his mouth over the worn fabric of jeans  the damp heat of his mouth fled through.  This time right over the soft bulge of balls against crushed in too-tight jeans.  Imriel’s grunt of shock faded, drew out into a low moan with the teasing pressure of nose and mouth, that wet heat beginning to bleed through.  He swore he could feel the drag and press of a tongue just against his rectum and stomach tightened convulsively.

Roman was surprisingly strong, though he shouldn’t have been shocked, he’d seen him with his shirt off, and though he couldn’t imagine that quiet homebody out in a gym, he had a natural, serious build of someone who looked like they’d seen a good deal of work outdoors.   He rather liked that image a bit more; Roman, shirtless, sweat dripping down his – AAAHN!   That tongue again.  The level of this tease was torture and he squirmed, but only found himself grasped tighter.   Another minute more of this and his moans were taking on a whining quality.  Roman finally released him, easing him down onto his own spread of bent legs and reaching to pull him up by the grasp of elbows.

Imriel wrapped arms round dappled shoulders and dug short, blunt nails deep into the nape of his neck, drawing a soft hiss from the other boy.  He buried his surprised smile in a biting line of kisses that had Roman tilting his head back, hands sliding into Imriel’s open shirt to ghost up the lean line of his back and down again, cupping round the curve of his bottom to hoist hips closer in a rough little jerk.  Imriel’s breath caught in his throat as that quiet voice brushed against his ear in a teasing tone he hadn’t known was possible, repeating his own words back to him sardonically.

“Do you want me to fuck _you_?”

“Yesss.”  The word escaped the green-haired boy in a rush of breath that caught its tail on his teeth just before he added his own mark to those spots under his mouth, sucking hard on a bare patch as he felt Roman shift under him, get a good grip, and rise.  Imriel might have been slighter than the other, but he was no little thing, and it was clear that those few steps to the bed were all the more that Roman could carry him, and he untangled legs from the waist they were locked around and found the floor in a slow downward slide against Roman’s chest. 

Arms still draped over shoulders, he grabbed ahold of  the fabric of the soft grey shirt underhand and gathered it in bunches till he could draw it up overhead and pull it off, Roman obliging with a forward stretch of arms.  Imriel spanned hands over the curve of pecks and let them slide a slow caress toward navel, waist, pulled button and fly open with short, jerking motions before Roman could grab him by one elbow, turn him around and give him a light shove that had him planting hands in the soft mess of the bed, knees bending, head rolling forward in a loose drop.  He knew exactly what he did when he lowered from hands to forearms in a sinuous, liquid motion, ass in the air, Roman’s hands already round his hips, reaching round him to pull his belt loose and jeans open, felt the cool air of the apartment against hot skin the second jeans  along with underwear got drug over the curve of his backside and pushed down thighs to bind round his knees like a hobble.

He could hear the soft suckle from behind him, but still found himself shocked when cool, wet fingers circled round that tight, puckered hole between the cleft of his ass, stroking turning to pressure that became interminable, had him wiggling back against it before that ring of muscle gave and they slid inside.  He sucked a breath, fists clenching in the bedsheets, and he could feel that delicious flutter of stomach muscles as Roman stroked slow.  And here Imriel thought _he_ was the tease.  He rocked, pushed back against fingers till they were knuckle deep and felt them began to separate, spread him open.  He clenched around them in retaliation only to feel them curl a bit, the sensation of fingertips stroking, pushing prodding against inner walls driving him a little bit mad, lust coiling like a hot, tight knot in the pit of his stomach, shuddering little convulsions rolling up his spine to explode in small fireworks against the back of his brain.  His cock hung heavy, the throbbing ache of it begging for him to wrap a hand round its length, pump until that blissful pulsing tension emptied out of him in hot spurts.

“Nnnnh!”

The tight grip Roman’s other hand had on one cheek was not helping matters, had him wondering just how rough he could provoke that quiet, gentle soul into being.  He was damn glad for that gentleness however, the second the hot tease of fingers withdrew, and he could feel the grip of that hand release, sliiide slow upward, down the convex of his back, shoving the open shirt he still wore toward his shoulderblades, getting a messy grip on the fabric from hem to the collar at the back of his neck all in one crumpled grasp. 

Roman was dying, more than half his brain screetching that overwhelming physical _need_ at him, the remaining bits fairly convinced this was another wet dream brought on by way too much alcohol, because that beautiful man could _not_ possibly be face down in his bead, moaning want against his sheets in a way that had him wanting to fuck a path clean through him.  One hand shoved and pushed  his own open pants down just enough to get cock in hand, and then he was guiding the broad, blunt head of it up against the puckered hole his fingers had so recently been prying into. Not plunging in, not yet, but there was a pressure there before guiding the pre-cum slickened head of his cock back and forth over the tense little pucker, then stopping.

Just enough to get Imriel to make that wonderful whining groan again, the noise of it raising hair on the back of his neck in the most wonderful ways.  When he pushed it was slow, so achingly slow, savoring that gradual give and the enveloping, crushing heat that squeezed the head of his cock hard before he began to bury himself, inch by gradual inch till hips met hips. 

Imriel’s mouth fell open, a strangled cry muffled against the sheets. He knew better than to clench, fought the urge to do so against the sweetly stretching pain...dear god that fucking dark haired bastard was _big_.  Shock bled into agony bled to the slow burning fire of bliss, and he growled low. Pushed back against hips already flush with his own, unsatisfied just to be filled, demanding, endearingly greedy all of a sudden.  He could hear a soft, broken chuckle above him and growled again, pushing back hard, squeezing as best he could till it hurt and he had to stop.

 _Yes, just like that_ , Roman would have moaned had he a voice to.  But his own was bottled up, trapped low in his chest as he withdrew slightly only to inch deeper with inexorable force until he was buried deep, balls to ass, the soft rise of the bones of his pelvis cradling Imriel’s haunches again. It was then he groaned, the sound of it dripping slow like molten honey.

Imriel released his grip on the sheets with one hand, reaching back to grab hold of one of Roman’s thighs in a convulsive squeeze, and the shreds of control left shattered beyond repair.   He pulled back only to thrust his way back in as if he owned him, had every damn right to force him open with brutal, jarring movements. His rhythm was unapologetically quick, each thrust delivered with the kind of battering force that would have jostled Imriel further along the mattress had he not suddenly shoved both hands forward slightly, got a damn good grip of the bed.    

Roman's groan was glorious satisfaction made sound, and the other boy reveled in it, some part of him deeply pleased, and that noise would be tucked away in the vault of memory to be recalled, replayed again.

"Fffuck...nnh!!"

That Imriel was even able to get words out at all was a miracle, and each jostling thrust, each wonderfully hard, almost burning invasion saw a fresh wave of bittersweet bliss, each cresting in an adrenal rush of pleasure so sharp, so perfect it felt near blinding.  He pushed up into those thrusts - as best one could in his position, the sharp scent of sex-spiked air  thick with them and their rough play.

The way Roman moved was blissfully fucking furious, his spine snaking in a liquid undulation with each motion.  The way Imriel relaxed with those perfect noises that drug out of him made things easier, made Roman’s movements smoother where once they'd been almost ragged, and it let him lengthen the strokes he ploughed him with, inching out until only the swollen head of his cock was still buried, tugging at his opening before he sank back inside as if he meant to reach some new, unexplored depth.  The narrowness, that unused feel to the flesh he was buried in was a torment, saw his head hanging low as he stooped over Imriel, breaths drawn in raggedly, never enough oxygen to gulp down for the way he exerted himself.   Eyes squeezed tight shut, had to because that scenario below him, the dipping low arch of Imriel’s back, the one bright eye that slanted open to glance up at him, half blind in pleasure as his mouth curled molasses slow and sweet even as his cheek jarred in hard thuds against the mattress was just far too much.   The whole of him shuddered to a stop each time hips hit that upturned ass.  There was always so much bliss that came with it that it threated to bring him too early, and Roman didn't want to come yet.

He released the death grip he had on the bunched mess of Imriel’s shirt, hands spanning ribs as he dipped lower, mouth open, to taste the smooth skin of back and shoulderblade, cock buried deep as hips slowed to small, brief motions, just rocking pleasurably, drawing out the inevitable.  Under him Imriel sighed, shuddered and covered his own face with the splayed fingers of one hand.  Roman reached to pull it away, wouldn’t have a shield between himself and that exquisite face, its brows knit hard, mouth gone ruddy and wet from earlier kisses faltering halfway between its usual upturn and open gasps, the dual silver rings at its edge glistening with each motion.

“Roman, please…” 

He slid a hand round Imriel’s waist, fingers finding the heavy hang of his cock, traced the sharp rise of veins standing out along its shaft before curling slowly about the head of it, thumb pushing, sliding along its pre-cum slicked slit as he squeezed lightly.  Under him Imriel made noises that would have made whores blush.

“Please!   Oh god…”

The retaliatory constriction of inner walls wrapped round his own cock was the last straw.  He felt dizzy with it, thighs aching, a knot building in massive tension deep in the pit of his stomach, the intoxicating bliss of it overwhelming.  He had no sense at all of what he did except that he needed, needed to come before the pressure burst in him, ruined him.  Releasing his grip of Imriel’s cock (and boy, did that earn him a pitiful, choked groan) he took hold of the bent backs of flannel-covered  arms, gripped tight as he rammed himself home hard.  Two, maybe three long, vicious strokes and he  was painting those molten insides with ribbons of his own heat, every muscle in him tightening up excruciatingly, air choking up in his throat in a strangled exclamation, stomach rigid as a sheet of steel and his ass clenched with the last slam that buried him, nearly tearing  where he'd spilled himself. The pleasure of orgasm grasped like a fist at the base of his spine, wringing him out exquisitely to exhaustion.

He shook, knees and every other joint gone to jelly, his cheek resting against the slick plane of Imriel’s back as the jumbled mess the world had become gradually began to sort itself out in incoherent pieces.  He could feel his own hair stuck damply to sweat-beaded forehead and cheeks, feel it clinging to the back of his neck.  His heartbeat thudded in his ears like a war drum, throbbed in the length of his cock and temples both.

Vaguely aware of a quiet grunt of protest under him, he turned his face slightly, sucked a kiss against the smooth skin of Imriel’s back, and shakily began to push himself upright, just enough to slowly, slowly pull out.  The second they were no longer joined he was falling, rolling to one side of the other boy on the bed, careful not to fall crushingly flat atop him, blissfully vacant in the afterglow.  Only half-aware of Imriel sitting up beside him, shucking the wrinkled flannel shirt and shoving at his shoulder to roll him full onto his back. 

Roman murmured something incoherent as the weight on the bed shifted, felt hands grab at his jeans and underwear and yank them impatiently down.  He lifted hips obligingly only to find them pushed back into the mattress again as his knees came up, hands on the backs of his thighs until legs hooked over shoulders painted beautiful, lurid colors of peacock feathers.   That luscious haze of afterglow began to ebb somewhat, however, the second Imriel’s cock sank itself into him without warning or preamble.

Sleep-heavy eyes widened slightly as his mouth parted with shock.  It felt good, though…so good, in that boneless bliss of afterglow to be bent double, filled and fucked, watching the frustration on Imriel’s face fade into pleasure as he rocked hips in smooth, long motions, much more gentle than he had been.  God and he was beautiful, though, more brilliant without the dulling effect of dark clothes hiding pale skin and bright colors of ink, hair, and silver peircings.  Two through his collarbone, one through each nipple and….eyes ticked downward, half to watch that cock disappear inside himself, half in curiosity… no, no belly ring, but rather a ladder of barbells just under navel.  Three or four rungs, it was hard to tell with the tangle of half-off jeans in the way.  Roman let his head rock back, eyes slanting shut, and Imriel leaned closer, bent toward him to nip at his chin till he brought his face back, open mouths straining toward each other in satiating kisses with each even thrust.  He lifted hands, skimmed the planes of cheeks and cradled that back of Imriel’s neck, scruffing lightly as he felt the other boy begin to jerk a bit in his strokes.  No way to last after all that teasing.

He loved it a little bit, the way Imriel shoved his forehead against his own, growling in fits before he finally reeled back, mouth open in a silent O as he came, brilliant eyes shut tight, the absence only making green all the brighter when they finally opened again, looking down at him like he was something heavenly, something wonderful.  There was a dull ache in his chest that eased a bit as Imriel lent back in, stroked trembling fingers across his face to push damp hair away before easing the swollen sting of lips with brief, achingly tender little kisses.

They both managed somehow to clamber and kick free of the last of their clothing, and wound up in a pile of tangled limbs under the warm weight of covers, Roman’s chin tucked against the ticklish whisps of green hair, Imriel’s cheek pressed sweat-sticky against his chest, the last coherent thought before sleep finally drug him under was how nicely they managed to fit together, without even trying. 

 

It made waking up that morning to find himself alone in his bed all the more bitter.

Consciousness swam back slowly, each muscle tensing in one long, slow, feline stretch before he slid an arm out, fumbled around and came up empty.  He slanted an eye open, lifted his head.  Nothing.  No green-haired boy sprawled out messily in the tangle of sheets beside him, no clothing left on the floor or other sound in the small apartment aside from the quiet purring of Miss Victoria, curled up, nestled against his side.  He couldn’t help but frown slightly, feel a bit of a pang of something unpleasant tighten his chest.  Careful not to disturb the kitten, he slid out of bed, staggered sleep-drunk to the bathroom to relieve himself and clean up a bit before pulling on underwear.  No sign of Imriel left anywhere, aside from on his own person, sticky reminder of why not to go to sleep immediately after sex.

That slight burn of hurt was growing steadily, like embers catching into flame as he drug himself back to bed and crawled in again, head propped on pillows that still smelled like the other boy.  Like she sensed some unease, the kitten stirred, stretched with a yowling yawn and crawled up on his stomach to settle onto his chest, tucking paws under herself as she gave him a closed-eyed, feline version of a pleased smile.  _I’m still here_.  He stroked her back thoughtfully.  Those eyes of hers jumped open a moment later though, head swiveling toward the door and the jangle of keys behind it before it opened.

Imirel shut the thing behind him carefully, turning the deadbolt, bringing the scent of cold and freshly fallen snow in with himself.   Toeing off shoes he glanced up, realized he was being watched by two pairs of eyes, and broke into a broad smile. 

“Hey!”   He unzipped vest and hoodie, dropped both on the couch as he juggled the paper bag and corrugated cardboard cupholder he held carefully.  “I didn’t want to go through your kitchen or anything so I thought I’d run out, grab us some coffee.  Hope you don’t mind I borrowed your keys….and a shirt.”  He admitted a bit bashfully, glancing down at the slightly oversized dark blue tee he’d found in a pile of clean things.

He crossed the room, sank down on the edge of the bed and set the bag beside Roman before pulling one small paper cup out and offering it to him, taking his own in turn and leaving the holder on the floor beside the bed.  Roman found once again that gentle smile was an infectious thing, the tightness in his chest vanishing as Imriel bent to steal a kiss, brief at first, lengthening into a long, lingering caress.  He pulled back slowly, and glanced at the kitten still laying on Roman’s chest, passed a hand over her head to which she _murrrr_ ’d in quiet contentment, fuzzy little sides contracting with the sound.

“Good morning.” 

Roman bit at the plastic lip on the cover of his coffee, trying very hard not to grin like an idiot.

“Good morning.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahaha clearly I am quality because I cannot for the life of me figure out how to work lube application into smut without making everything seem awkward, hence its absence here. Yeah its not realistic, ask me how much I care. In other notes; wrap your junk, kids. There's nothing attractive about unprotected sex ok.


	3. Good Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha Imriel is so evil, you guys just don't even know. Poor Roman. Poor LUCKY Roman.

 “I can’t believe you’ve never been to SoHo.”  Imriel was remarking for the second time that day as Roman opened the door to his apartment and tossed keys on the table just inside, holding the door for the other boy as they both jostled inside, awkward with armfuls of bags.  He shrugged and shut the door behind them both as Imriel dropped the bags he carried beside the couch with a quiet groan.  Shopping the markets and thrift stores, record and music stores had gotten a little out of hand.  Imriel dropped to a crouch and began to dig through the bags of treasures and tidbits.  Sensation returning to hands after the constricting weight of plastic handles had been shaken off.

 

“Just never thought of it.”  Roman replied, walking the bags he held to the side of the apartment that held the kitchenette, setting all he held down on the countertop and pulling out two large cans of iced green tea.  He ambled back toward Imriel, popping the top of his own can and taking a few deep swallows as he handed the other one down, resting it lightly against the other boy’s shoulder till he glanced up and took it with a distracted ‘thank you’.  Imriel had grown up in the city, been everywhere about a million times.  Roman was still fairly new to the teeming metropolis of NYC and all its different districts, boroughs and neighborhoods.  It wasn’t that he was adverse to exploring, it was just difficult to come up with reasons to do so on his day off when staying at home, lazing in a warm bed was so much more enticing.

 

He was happy to follow Imriel around, though, listening to him chat idly away as they walked down the street, his arm slung comfortably round Roman’s waist, fingers hooked in a belt loop.  And rather liked their long bus rides together, mashed into a pair of seats in a tangle of legs, sharing earbuds and scrolling through playlists to make the time pass.  Imriel even seemed to find it amusing how overcautiously nervous Roman seemed to get on the subway, didn’t mind the way the taller boy stood too close, either kept an arm around him or a hand on him as if convinced someone was going to snatch him away.  Got a kick out of how intimidating Roman _tried_ to look, and after a while gave up trying to explain to the non-city slicker that glaring was more an open invitation for people to fuck with you than it was a deterrent. 

 

Roman had liked SoHo, though; full of starving artists and ripe for people-watching.  The chill of winter was fading gradually into spring, and more crowds were out and about on the city sidewalks, enjoying the lack of snow and bright sunshine.  He stood sipping on the iced tea and watching Imriel dig through their loot before coming up with the album he was looking for.  Roman groaned softly and rolled eyes, earning himself a playful glare as Imriel stood and turned around.

 

“I still don’t know why you bought that thing.”  He mumbled into the top of the can he held, in self-defense.

 

“Because it’s gooood.”  Imriel insisted, that sweet, ever present smile broadening.

 

“Good for using as a coaster, maybe.”  He returned, earning himself a poke in the ribs as Imriel squeezed past him toward the player.

 

“Such a snob!”  The green-haired boy teased, pausing to kick off shoes before opening the album and putting it in the player. He crossed the room, set his unopened can of tea down on the small table in the corner and grabbed one of the chairs there beside it, dragging the thing to the center of the small apartment and turning it to face Roman before pointing a finger imperiously at the seat of it.  “Sit down.”

 

Roman’s dark brows rose but he did as he was bid, pacing over to sink into the chair, feeling a bit awkward.  Imriel’s hand trailed across the breadth of his shoulders as he walked out from behind him, back toward the player, tugging open the zipper of the hoodie he wore, pulling off fingerless knit gloves, and shedding both into the pile of bags on the floor before pulling off his hat as well, leaving hair a riot of a green mess like a summer lawn grown too high.  He watched Roman the whole time with furtive, sly glances, the kind that were only deepening the furrow between Roman’s dark brows.

 

“I’ll show you what it’s good for, if that’s how you’re gonna be about it.”

 

Roman swallowed.  This was going to be trouble.

 

Imriel pushed play and turned back to pace toward Roman and his seat, stopped before him and took the can of tea out of his hand, setting it aside before he lent forward, both hands on the back of the chair over Roman’s shoulders, putting them nose to nose. 

 

“Reach down and grab the legs of the chair.”  He ordered quietly, voice taking on a tone that had a rush of heat plunging straight into Roman’s stomach and exploding like a cannonball.  He did as he was told, reaching back and curling fingers around cold metal.  His complacency had Imriel grinning wickedly, green head canting slightly as he arched a brow.  “Good.  Rules are, no touching.  So keep ‘em there.” 

 

Perhaps he didn’t trust Roman’s silent, wide-eyed nod as consent, or perhaps he just wanted to make sure, but either way he lent in close as the music began – something so much more electronica than suited Roman’s tastes – and grabbed hold of the zipper tab of his hoodie, pulled it down, down, sliding with it till his head was in Roman’s lap before he flicked head back, and that smile was interrupted with the way the tip of his tongue traced a slow pass across the inside of his upper lip.  Hands slid up, along the insides of Roman’s thighs, pushing them further apart, up across his crotch and over stomach and chest to grab the hoodie at shoulders and force it back over the back of the chair and slightly down Roman’s arms.  Enough to pin him slightly.

 

“Be good.”  They were nose to nose again, and Roman’s head tilted back slightly as Imriel bit a kiss at his chin, along the cut of his jaw, finding one earlobe at last in a wonderfully pinching grasp of teeth.  “And I’ll give you something nice.”

 

Roman could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage as eyes drifted shut when that bite became a series of ticklish, slow suckles, his own teeth setting hard in his lower lip to restrain the quiet sounds trying to escape.  The caress of mouth disappeared however, once the beat and chorus of the music really kicked in, and he opened eyes to find the pressure he could feel against his chest was being caused by Imriel’s hand, steadying himself as he rose, those sly green eyes watching him as he turned around, hands on himself, sliding down his own throat, his own sides, down thighs as he crouched, jeans riding low enough to take the hem of bright purple underwear with them slightly, giving up a glimpse of the upper cleft and curve of Imriel’s backside under the hem of his worn and faded, slightly too-tight tee. He fell forward onto hands and knees, facing away from Roman, and for a second that display was damn near obscene as hands slid forward, head and shoulders dipped, ass in the air, before the serpentine wave of his spine moved back the way it came and righted him again. He leant, leeeeant back between the spread of Roman’s thighs till his head rested right against his crotch.  Eyes shut, lip slowly escaping the suction of his own mouth, leaving it glossy-wet as he slid hands down himself again, from throat to his own groin, cupping them there as he bounced slowly to the beat on bent knees, hips picking up a gradual gyration, pushing into the grasp of his own hands as his mouth dropped open in a tease of a fake, silent moan, eyes flicking open at last to look up, upside down at Roman.

 

Even upside down that grin was insufferably wanton, and gone all too fast as he lifted his head again, set hands on Roman’s knees and rose liquidly until he could set his bottom against Roman’s lap, hips moving sinuously as he lay back against Roman’s chest, arms rising overhead to drag fingertips up into his long hair, tugging lightly, stroking at scalp and the nape of his neck as the hard pressure of his backside ground against the groin it sat upon. 

 

Roman was dying, was already hard as a rock and obviously so by the time Imriel rolled lithely around and slid back down his chest, chin resting right over the slightly painful bulge his cock was making against black jeans.  Hands did filthy things to thighs, pressed in hard and stroked all the way in to kneed fingers in an unhelpful grasp of his crotch as Imriel sat back in that sultry crouch, spine moving him fluidly to the music, hands drawing back toward him, fingers curling under to scratch harmlessly, if hard, over the tops of his thighs. 

 

It took only one sleek motion to have him on his feet again, and Roman was struggling with remembering how to breathe as Imriel moved forward, stepped over one leg and then the other till he stood in a straddle over him, one hand fisting tight against the back of Roman’s head as he moved; perfect, seductive waves of body rolls right in front of Roman’s nose, green eyes shut again as if he was enjoying himself immensely.  The hand clenched in hair released, so both hands could settle and smooth over shoulders as he lowered himself, and ah god!  The way he ground down, hips gliding like sin, rolling and popping at turns, flawlessly timed to that deep bass growl beat, forcing delicious friction between the crush of jeans that had Roman white-knuckle grasping the legs of the chair, metal gone hot and slippery with the sweat of his grip.

 

Not reaching up to grab hold of Imriel was taking every shred of effort he could muster, and he couldn’t even be bothered to try to rearranged features into something less hungrily shocked and wanting as that green-eyes bastard smiled down at him, dipped his head to lick at his mouth teasingly before straightening out of range.  Hands squeezed, kneeded at Roman’s shoulders, caressed his throat, up one cheek before Imriel drew them back, up overhead to grasp ahold of his own shirt and begin the gradual process of liiiiiifting it up overhead, leaning back just enough to give Roman an excellent view of leanly defined stomach, the contraction and stretch of abs enough to make anyone’s mouth water.  All those morning runs Imriel was so fond of taking by himself were worth it, SO worth it.  Roman’s breath hitched in his throat as Imriel paused in his strip, lifted shirt obscuring his face while the music changed, slowed slightly, and he slid down harder in that achingly wonderful roll of hips and ass, bare skin a flawless stretch of beautiful musculature, the shallow V divot that dove down into jeans from hips flexing with each movement.

 

Imriel pulled shirt up off over head and let it fall, lent back in with his teasing grind before he rose, and Roman had to keep himself from protesting as that fantastic, terrible friction between the crush of hips disappeared.  The panic of it was obviously writ clear enough upon his face, though, and Imriel seemed to be enjoying every second of it as he backed away, resumed his grasp of the tops of Roman’s thighs just over his knees and bounced, reveling in the music with such little regard for the way the boy in front of him was slowly suffocating in lust.  He turned, and Roman got an excellent view of just how far down jeans and underwear had slid with all the bending and grinding that had sent them riding low, low down hips to reveal the perfect, taut curve of the top of his ass.   The same ass he was back to sliding temptingly along the insides of thighs in a grazing glide toward the aching rise of Roman’s erection.

 

Ah, but the song ended, and hips stilled, had Roman releasing breath in a quiet huff of relief, though really, he had nothing to be relieved about as Imriel slid down to a crouch and turned around toward him again, bent arms coming to rest atop Roman’s thighs, fingertips slipping under the hem of his shirt as the next song began, touch ticklingly, wonderfully light as it ghosted against his waist, shoving shirt up a bit before hooking in the waist of jeans and slipping toward their center.  Roman was fairly certain the legs of the chair he had a grasp on were going to snap off in his hands like splinters as Imriel smiled up at him, the twin rings at one side of his mouth winking brightly as he popped open button and lent in to grasp the tab of his zipper with teeth to drag it down.

 

Imriel drew back only slightly as he pulled the opening he’d made in jeans wide, slid a hand down inside the gaping v he’d made.  Fingers grasped themselves round Roman’s very obvious erection, eased him out of the painful confines of fabric carefully before fingertips, touch gone deceptively gentle, slid down the shaft of him, traced the throb of veins, curled slow and tight in the spiral of an upward stroke that left his thumb pressing a pleasing friction up and over the sensitive slit of his head, gliding back down once more before they slid upward to smooth in a slide of his fist round the bell curve of its tip.

 

Under the toying of Imriel's fingers Roman was hard as a fucking stone, and trying to steadfastly ignore how intensely uncomfortable pants had long since become, even if the worst tension was free of them now.  After all that, all the awful, magnificent teasing, Roman was aching to have him up against the wall,  to have Imriel's legs hooked over his elbows, fucking him standing - and let him use those long fingers to dig in, scrabble, and just try to find grasp enough to hang on.  But oh, he was not letting go of that chair, wouldn’t give the other man the satisfaction of watching him break the rules.

 

The warmth of Imriel’s tongue in the cool air surrounding him felt like oiled silk as it slid up the shaft of his cock; a broad, deliberately slow lick that ran the exposed length of his him. Green eyes flicked upward and the softness of lips sucked a miniscule kiss from the ridge of his head.

 

 "Ask me.”  He purred, and Roman felt his stomach clench as breath fled in a rush, mouth dropping open soundlessly.

 

 Warm and slick, Imriel’s mouth closed over the head of him, and teeth grazed lightly against skin as he sucked once, _hard_.

 

Like most men, Roman only a certain level of restraint when it came to his cock, and grasped there at the root as Imriel had him, his was sliding away completely. He groaned, the throb of his pulse in that overheated flesh a small, destructive agony; spine dipping inward inadvertently, completely helpless over his reaction to that wet tongue and that exquisite, pulling suck. It seemed to have turned his bones to water, and he had to grapple at the legs of the chair to keep from sinking fingers into Imriel’s vivid green hair to hold him still while he used that wonderful mouth, and used it without restraint.  Head bowed to hang low, chin to collarbone.  Sensation dragged a moan thickly from him, saw his eyes flick closed tightly.

 

“Uunngh….” He sucked a sharp intake of breath, as if he’d some hope in hell of clearing his head.

 

“Please,” he breathed, “Please, Imriel.”

 

The plea must have worked because the broad, flat, slick wet of Imriel’s tongue stroked up and over the head of his cock, gathering the salt-bitter taste of him, and teeth hid behind the softness of lips as he let Roman into his mouth again.  Hands took hold of either side of the yawning opening of trousers, gathered them tight and used them as an anchor to guide the length of rock hard muscle deep into the warm cavern of his mouth, stopping only when it nudged against the back of his throat. The slide out was no more tortuously slow, tongue playing little games along the pulse of veins and soft ridges.

 

Roman broke, fingers of one hand unwinding from the grip of the chair to reach down.   Lean, long fingers fanned out in green hair, his thumb sweeping an absent-minded back and forth stroke against a flushed temple as Imriel enclosed more of the aching length of himself in the humid heat of his mouth.  Roman’s breath sounded shallow, came coupled with a low-level groan.

 

Imriel moaned quietly at the span of fingers that sunk into his soft hair, the spread of them sending trailing little shivers down his back, and the eager, uncoordinated thrust Roman made with hips a second later  met only resistance enough to squeeze the girth of him tightly against throat, tongue and palate.  Unlike so many people he knew, Imriel didn't have the advantage of little bits of teasing silver studding his tongue, but nor did he need them.

 

Hands  spread themselves over Roman’s hips, clenched and unclenched in a grip that could have  left the bruises of fingerprints behind in possessive blue-black shadows later, and the second he let Roman's cock slide from the hard pulling pressure of his sucking mouth and the lashing caress of his tongue, he'd drawn him back in harder than before, back down the convulsive, hot grip of a throat struggling to accommodate the width of him, Imriel’s nose just brushing the flat of Roman’s lean stomach.

 

Trapped in the tight channel of convulsively working throat muscles, the restless stroke of a tongue and caving cheeks, Roman let his head tip backwards, his hair falling back over shoulders and off his forehead.  His adam's apple lurched, throat thick on a swallow.

 

The broad flat of Imriel’s tongue stroked out to drag over his head liquidly, before he tasted at the slit with a snake-flicker probing of the tip before sliding him back in. Lips curled over teeth and the steam heat of his mouth closed in around Roman, a fitfully twisting tongue tormenting the ridges of the head at its underside briefly before he slid deeper. Deeper, with his hands molding themselves over Roman’s hips, like he'd need the help staying still. Truth be told he wouldn't have cared if Roman had proven to be the type that didn't know how to keep from bucking roughly. He was far gone enough to like it, want such roughness even, but he'd a maddening curiosity over how that warm flesh tasted, wanted to savor it just a little before it reached the back of his mouth, pushed against the bottleneck narrowing which gave with only the faintest resistance, then plunged into the constricting heat of his throat, the base of his tongue pressing hard against the thick vein in the underside of the shaft.

 

Roman’s stomach muscles tensed, spasmed, and for a half a second he had to struggle against the very real desire of his spine to curl itself comma with the pleasure of that unexpected bliss. He managed to lose that fight entirely as his hand convulsed in lurid green hair and he rocked forward with a strangled, soft cry.   Hand clenched itself, crushed soft strands in its grip, knuckles pressed hard against the other boy’s scalp.  All he could do, the second the delicious wet heat of that mouth swallowed him whole, not to buck upward, and thighs trembled at the effort it took to remain still. 

 

Blue eyes slanted open again, enough to watch the length of himself sliding between those lips, before they shut themselves again tightly. Something akin to a low moan reverberated low in his throat, and for a long moment he lost all train of thought to the way the warmth of a tongue slid and pressed against him, found all those sensitive, aching small places and set them on fire. Nerves caught one by one, a small landslide turning into an all-out avalanche. Teeth clenched against teeth as his jaw constricted, and the second the resistance at the back of Imriel's throat gave way he was lost, the tight knot of pleasure deep within his stomach doubling in on itself. His hand opened, fingers sinking into hair and shaping themselves against the curve of the other’s head, enough to act as guide as Imriel withdrew part way - torture to feel the cool air of the room where there had been humid heat a second ago!- and then plunged him back into that throat and its exquisite constriction.

 

Imriel was ready for it, his knees and feet braced against the floor where he knelt as he felt the fingers tighten up in his hair, the bone-hard dig of knuckles to scalp, his own stomach clenching at the wonderful, pained sounds he was wringing out of Roman, and he'd have smiled if he hadn’t had his mouth oh so full already.  He couldn't have pressed much further, deep as he already was, and Imriel could feel the crush that made it impossible to breathe, and he pressed his face hard into Roman’s lower stomach, eyes closed blissfully as he withdrew again.  He chased it with a sinuous swipe of his tongue, and one hand came to grasp that cock snug at the root, to stroke him with careful fingers which pulled insistently, a corkscrewing motion of the wrist turning the delicate skin. Moments later and it was his mouth back at work, his hand displaced as he worked the sinful lock of his lips back along the vein-lined length, cheeks caved hard on the backward pull before he swallowed him whole again.

 

Roman could feel himself reeling, had knees locked so hard he was sure they'd never unbend again, and swore to any god he knew that he could feel the entirety of his heartbeat pulse in his cock, pound through his temples.  To die by inches.  He groaned long and low as it, hips tensing reflexively as the lightening jolt rush of searing, sweet sensation arched up his spine, spread long, curling tendrils deep into his belly. There was a blissful slid into detachment, that eerie severing of mind and body that heralded the beginning of the end. Somewhere, he could feel the uncontrollable tightening in his groin, the tensing of stomach muscles and thighs already hard as stone, and the fire that burned in the pit of his belly gone coursing downward. And still, the wet, warm bliss of that mouth owned him, he couldn't stop, not even if he'd tried. And who would want to?  Fingers curled inward, dug blunt, short nails into tender scalp.

 

When he cried out, it was a wordless gasp, a primal, beautifully pained articulate of release, the noise tearing itself from his throat even as he thrust himself up into Imriel’s, into the delicious constrictive, slippery heat of it, and poured the hot rushing spurts of his release against the back of his throat.  He tasted of salty-slick bitterness, and something undeniably male. Distantly he was aware of that music in the background, still throbbing away in a swell of tingling, crackling electronica and a deep bass beat that echoed the frantically hard thudding of his own heartbeat perfectly.

 

Roman held still, his head dropped, the tension of abdomen pulling shoulders further into that hunch forward.  The sweet burn of release purged the world away for a long moment, left him reeling in the dark behind his own eyelids, the edges of his world gone blissfully hazy;  the ecstasy of release fading slow, muscles unwinding into a boneless state as he released the shuddering moan of a breath.  He could hear Imriel’s quietly pleased laughter below him, feel fingers on his face smoothing the fall of his dark hair away.

 

“….alright....its…good…music…”  He managed to get out.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! A wild plot appears.  
> If you want to hear Roman sing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9dKbxaXDyg  
> Song is a mashup of Put Your Records On and Love on Top as sung by Manny Garcia

_10:00  2nite ur coming rt?_

_Yep, brt as soon as I can_

_Ok_

A full four minutes later before Imriel’s phone buzzed with the next text

_< 3_

He grinned at the screen and shook his head, turning back to the person waiting patiently under his needle.  Another half hour and he’d be done the outline he was working on, ready to pack it in for the evening with just enough time to run home, grab a quick shower, change and catch the last bus to Roman’s neighborhood and the café.   Ten o’clock would be pushing it, but he’d get there as quickly as he could, and could feel the guy under his needle flinch as he dug in a little too deep, feeling the nerves for some reason. 

Luck was definitely not on his side, as every time the client got up and looked in the mirror he pointed out another little detail he wanted, another little change or tweak.  It was almost quarter past nine by the time Imriel was running out the door, Jess shoving his take of tips into his hand as he tried to pull on his coat and push the door open at the same time. 

Hair was still slightly damp by the time he found a seat on the bus later, but at least he smelled nice, had clean clothes on and managed to wash the scent of latex gloves, ink and skin ointment off his hands.  He pushed knees hard against the seat in front of him, willing that damn bus to move faster _– did they pay the driver by the stop?  Christ_ – and leapt up when AT LAST they pulled up to the stop about three blocks from the café, practically ran the rest of way, skidded to a stop in front of the dark glass façade, huffing slightly, catching breath before pulling the door open.

The place was packed, and some short brunette snapping gum was standing behind the hostess’ podium by the door, offering up a broad smile on command as he paused and the door swung shut behind him. 

“There’s no tables left, sorry, just standing room.  We’ve stopped serving for the night – just drinks from here on in.”  She held out a bored hand for his coat and Imriel shrugged the thing off obligingly, accepted the ticket she offered in return.  Thankfully Roman’s set hadn’t started yet.  They were still setting up on the little dais made in one corner of the café.  Some tall, lean blonde leaning over an imposing looking double bass, plucking strings and adjusting pitch as the drummer finished setting up his kit.  Imriel wandered away from the door, pulling hat off his head and raking fingers through damp hair as he wove slowly through the tangle of chairs and people standing, toward the bar, watching Roman, who had his back turned, sling guitar strap over himself, head ducking, before he turned to sink down upon the tall stool sitting before a microphone.   Imriel was watching hard enough, willing the tall, dark haired boy to glance up and see him that he ran smack into someone, reeled back to find Bailey grinning down at him, teeth brilliant against the rich hue of the rest of him.   
  
“Imriel, ya actually made it.  You got no idea how bad you had my boy stressin today.”

Imriel broke into a wide smile of his own, bright eyes narrowing.

“I might.  I think my data plan has been maxed out for the next month and half with texts.”  He replied, digging phone out of his back pocket to wave it slightly by way of illustration.

“Yeah well.  I saved ya a seat at the bar.  Just find the one dude in a hairnet and apron who really doesn’t look like he belongs at there and tell him you’re Imriel.  He habla’s no inglais, ok, so just say your name and he’ll move.  Oh yeah, and pay the man, ok?  He’s gonna catch hell for being off the line for the past twenty minutes.”

Imriel mumbled a confused thank you and pushed round Bailey toward the bar, where sure enough there was one line chef sitting, perched on a barstool, blissfully enjoying what looked like a pina colada and well-deserved time off tired feet.  Imriel cleared his throat and tapped him on a shoulder, earning himself a bleary-eyes glance.

“Mi nombre es Imriel?”  Yeah it was rough and the accent was shit, but hey!  Four years of high school Spanish were worth something at long last.  The man turned to give him a long, discerning look, eyes narrowing as he rested an elbow upon the bar top, sipping away at the straw stuck in his fruity drink.  Imriel rolled eyes and dug into a pocket, came up with a folded ten between two fingers.

“Imriel.”  He repeated again.  This time getting a broad smile as the man plucked the bill from his hand, shoved his drink back on the bar, hopped off his barstool and disappeared back toward the kitchen. Imriel resumed the vacated seat and managed to get a drink before the house lights dimmed a bit and the recessed lighting just above the little dais kicked up a notch, washing the trio there in bright light.

Roman was front and center, half-perched on the tall stool, microphone before him, the tall blonde to his left standing beside his double bass, looking deeply comfortable on the stage.  To Roman’s right sat a small drum setup, the kid behind it scarcely looking old enough to be out this late much less capable of ordering drinks at the bar.  Roman adjusted his seat slightly and cleared his throat, leaning forward just a bit to speak into the microphone, eyes steadfastly downcast, that usual self-conscious half-slouch to the set of broad shoulders.  
  
“Alright…”  His quiet tone amplified by the speakers, caught the crowd’s attention as they began to settle down and conversation hushed gradually.  “So… I wanted to start this set tonight with a, uhm…with a song for someone special.”

The few scattered, teasing cat-calls that comment earned had him obviously doing his best to repress a sheepish grin as he let out a soft breath of a laugh and adjusted his grip on the guitar.  His next move must have surprised the hell out of the bass player and the drummer because neither joined in and both stared at him in open-mouthed surprise as he began strumming madly at the guitar, jumping headlong into full-tilt song.

“… _Your stare was holdin', Ripped jeans, skin was showin'  Hot night, wind was blowin'   Where do you think you're going, baby?_       

 _HEY!  I just met you, and this is crazy…but here’s my number so call me maybe!?  It’s hard to look right at you baby… but here’s my number…_ ”

The crowd went nuts as he stopped just as abruptly as he started, room lighting up in raucous laughter with him as he broke into a flawless, broad grin, laughing hard as he rocked slightly in his seat, head dipping before he glanced back up with that apologetic, goofily large smile, actually looking at the crowd this time, scanning.  
  
“Yeah, no…none of that tonight, sorry…”

“I think Sophie might take it as a request after our set though?”  Piped up the blonde on bass, leaning toward his own microphone.  It earned him a bared display of teeth and twin middle fingers from the girl who was next up to perform, from where she stood leaning against the wall not far from the dais.

The crowd settled back down and Roman’s wandering glance finally landed on the bar and the familiar shock of brilliant green hair there.  Imriel felt a strange little constriction in his chest, pleasantly painful, as those bright blue eyes locked on him and Roman’s smile softened at its edges.  He glanced away again, only for a moment to get fingering on the fret board right before he began strumming, more gently this time, and looked back up, keeping eyes on Imriel as he lent toward the mic.

_“Three little birds, sat on my window._

_And they told me I don't need to worry._

_Summer came like cinnamon_

_So sweet,_

_Little girls double-dutch on the concrete._

_Maybe sometimes, we've got it wrong, but it's alright_

_The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same_

_Oh, don't you hesitate._

_Boy, put your records on, tell me your favourite song_

_You go ahead, let your hair down_

_Emerald and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,_

_Just go ahead, let your hair down._

_You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow._

_Honey, honey_

_I can see the stars all the way from here_

_Can't you see the glow on the window pane?_

_I can feel the sun whenever you're near_

_Every time you touch me I just melt away_

_Now everybody asks me why I'm smiling out from ear to ear_

_They say love hurts_

_But I know  It's gonna take a little work_

_Nothing's perfect, but it's worth it after fighting through my tears_

_And finally you put me first_

_Baby it's you._

_You're the one I love._

_You're the one I need._

_You're the only one I see._

_Come on baby it's you._

_You're the one that gives your all._

_You're the one I can always call._

_When I need, you make everything stop._

_Finally you put my love on top…”_

Roman’s voice was a shock.  That quiet tenor of his richening, deepening with the music.  The kind of perfect that sent slow chills straight down spine and lifted goosebumps across skin in a deliciously visceral reaction.  He never, never spoke enough to give away any hint of the lush beauty that voice held.  Imriel had a hard time shutting his mouth after his jaw dropped, but he was grinning like a bashful idiot by the time the song drew to an end, not even noticing the rest of the crowd, moving gently in their seats, nodding heads, all wearing equally stupefied smiles as himself.  There was a lingering second after the song ended when he could have sworn there were no other people left in the world outside of Roman and himself, before the applause shocked him out of it, and he had to look down at his own feet, face burning pleasantly as Roman turned back to nod a bit of thanks at the crowd before starting up the next song.

The set was fantastic, made mostly of covers with a few of what Imriel had to guess were Roman’s own originals peppered in here and there.  His hands felt hot, palms raw from applauding by the time it was done, and the beer that he’d ordered sat warm and flat at his elbow before the last song finished.  Roman and his accompaniment rose, crowd whooping approval of their efforts, Roman ducking head slightly and waving a hand in gratuity as he stood and unslung guitar, stepping off the dais eagerly.  The tall blonde lent his bass against the wall, clearly going to be playing the next set with the girl about to come up, and took Roman’s guitar for him so the other could turn around, shove hands self-consciously into the back pockets of dark jeans as he began to cut his way toward the bar, nodding thanks silently to the few tables he had to pass by when people called out to him. 

Imriel shifted on his barstool, that sweet sickle of a smile splitting, broadening in anticipation, stinging hands pressing themselves to the tops of worn jeans and rubbing absently along thighs to knee and back as if palms felt damp like a nervous teenager. 

“ROMAN!” 

The object of that nervous affection was halted about three steps shy of Imriel’s seat, both by the excited shout of his name and by the person who shouted it; pale eyes widening as he suddenly found a short brunette girl hanging from around his neck, arms wound tight, face tilted up at him, way too close to his own for any level of comfort. 

“Um…Cristie?”

Hands hovered in mid-air at her sides, unsure what to do with themselves as she pushed herself further up on tip-toe and planted a kiss just to the right of his mouth.

“Ohmygod that was beautiful, you are soooo good.  Augh I could listen to you all day!  Please make me a cd, pleeeeease, I will never stop listening to it, I swear.  God, you’re like…like listening to sex, I don’t even know.  That was just so incredible.  Who was that first song for, hmmm?”

The assault of words was almost as bad as the physical assault taking place as she wriggled against him like a hyperactive puppy, keeping that grip on his neck with both arms, batting black lashes up at him coyly with her question.  Roman stared at her speechlessly, mouth dropped open, unable to process what exactly was the _least_ agreeable sensation occurring at the moment, brain short-circuiting slightly.  In another half a second he was terrified he was going to do something really regrettable to extricate himself from that embrace.  Instead he found himself watching Cristie’s face melt from its mooning smile to confusion to curiosity as a set of fingers tapped her on the shoulder.

Mercifully, she unwound arms and settled back on her feet to turn halfway and glance at whoever was demanding her attention.  Imriel stood just behind her, that implacable smile still gently curving his mouth upward, features pleasantly unbothered, even if those soft green eyes did have a hint of wickedness to them at the moment.

“It was me.”  He said simply.

Cristie took a step back, keeping an absent hand on Roman’s shoulder. Her utter confusion was priceless.

“Excuse me?”

“That song.  It was for me.”  The contortions Cristie’s face went through ought to have been recorded for posterity, because she surely reached Guinness Record levels of incredulity in less than five seconds.  Imriel was struggling not to laugh, and reached out, took her hand off Roman, put it in his own and shook it.

“Didn’t get a chance to introduce myself when you took my coat.  I’m Imriel, Roman’s boyfriend.”  He dropped her hand and it fell almost as far as her jaw did as Imriel pushed past her gently.  “Excuse me.”

Roman only had about a half a second to flick gaze back and forth between the pair in front of him before Imriel’s warmth was chasing away the nasty lingering sensation of prickling that Cristie’s wriggling had left behind, and he had less time than that to break into a huge smile before Imriel was pulling his face down gently, stealing his silence with one of those kisses Roman liked so much.  Slow start, little brushing things that deepened till he couldn’t think anymore, till brain shut off, wonderfully blank except for the taste of Imriel’s mouth under his own.  He wrapped arms round the other boy’s back, hands cradling the wings of shoulder blades, and when Imriel finally pulled back,  he had to remind himself how breathing worked.  Imriel pressed his forehead against Roman’s, hands still cradling his face, one thumb tracing lightly from cheek to mouth.

“That was wonderful.  You were wonderful.  Thank you.”  He murmured.  All Roman could do was nod slightly in response before pulling him closer and pushing his face into the hollow between neck and shoulder, green hair tickling at his ear gently.

Neither of them were paying any attention at all to the short brunette beside them who looked as if she was ready to drop from an aneurysm any second now.  To her credit, Cristie managed not to pop a blood vessel and eventually regained enough motor function to turn sharply on one heel and stalk away, skulking back behind the bar in a black rage.  Bailey, who was already back there leaning upon one of the counters, arms crossed, watched her mildly as she slammed a bottle down, trying to hide embarrassment with anger and looking busy.  Probably not the best combination. 

“Girl, I _told_ you to leave that boy alone.”  He started in a superior tone, earning himself a glare of death.

“Shut it, Bailey.”

“Yeah well, you listen next time.”  He replied, unperturbed, rolling eyes to one side before pushing off his lean and reaching to take the bottle she held in a throttling grasp out of her hand, setting a tray of already made drinks before her.  “Here, get these to table four, try not to dump them on the customers…and don’t worry.”

He gave her a broad, insufferable smile.

“ _I’m_ still single.”

“You’re also still an asshole, shut up.”  She snapped, grabbing the tray in a huff and shoving her way out toward the front of the room.

Imriel reclaimed his seat at the bar, Roman tucking his tall frame in between his barstool and the person on the left side of him, leaning an elbow on the bar, trying and failing to repress a pleased smile, chin tucked slightly.  Fingers slid down the length of Imriel’s back as the other boy lent elbows upon the bartop and jerked chin in an upnod in Bailey’s direction.  Two fresh drinks slid their direction, Imriel downing half of his in two swallows as Roman simply toyed thoughtfully with the thin red stirring straw in his own.  Imriel set his drink down and gave him a curious glance over the round of his shoulder.

“Boyfriend, huh?”  Roman asked quietly, eyes flicking from the surface of his drink to Imriel’s face and back again, timidly.

Imriel’s smile grew slightly and he half shrugged, lifting the straw in his own drink to chew upon its end.

“Yeah…If…that’s ok?”  For a half a second he felt a sickening drop in the pit of his stomach.  Perhaps he’d overstepped.  It had been more than a month and a half though, and there hadn’t been a week yet they weren’t together, trying to co-ordinate days off and free nights, but Roman was very much his own kind of creature and maybe he’d misjudged… 

The start of what was threatening to become an avalanche of self-beratement came to a crashing halt as Roman broke into one of those rare, enormous smiles, nodding slightly, his hand finding the gap of bare skin between the hem of Imriel’s shirt and his jeans, smoothing across the narrow slash slowly.

“Yeah, definitely.”

Imriel hid his own smile against the rim of his glass, finishing his drink in a rush before turning in his seat to slid down to feet again, chin tilting up to watch Roman as he sidled himself closer to the taller boy, caught hold of the empty beltloops of dark jeans to pull hips flush to his own.

“Let go get some dinner, ok?  I know a Cantonese place around here that’s open till three.”  He could have predicted the way blue eyes lit up at the idea of grabbing some Chinese, and didn’t even need to wait for that enthusiastic nod of agreement.  “Awesome.  I’ll wait outside for ya.  And could you grab my coat too? I think if I ask that girl to get it out of the coat check for me it’ll come back in twenty pieces.”

 

 ****

 

Later that night Roman lay in bed, the warm weight of Imriel sprawled half over top him, green head resting on the rise of his chest, cheek just over the slow thud of his heart.  Miss Victoria lay curled against his other side, in the loose cradle of one arm where she’d made a happy nest for herself and was currently passed out cold, purring with each slow exhalation.  He toyed with Imriel’s hair, twisting soft strands absently, savoring the way it rifled ticklishly through his fingers when he stroked up scalp the wrong way.  Imriel was making pleased sounds fairly close to that of the cat’s with the gentle attention.

He drew a long breath and lifted his head slightly, enough to rest chin upon Roman’s chest and treat him to a sleepy smile.

“Will you sing to me?  Again?”  He asked, expression brightening as Roman nodded wordlessly, bright eyes slanting shut as Roman’s knuckles smoothed along his cheek, turning his face into the featherlight caress before he lay his head back down with a blissful little groan.

“What song?”  Roman asked quietly, fighting the comfortable, boneless lassitude of sleep that pulled at him with insistent, gentle hands. 

“Anything.  You pick.”  Imriel replied in that easy going way of his.  Roman could have sang the alphabet for all he cared, just so long as he got to sink all attention into that beautiful tenor again, feel the way it lifted the fine hair on the back of his neck and arms. 

Roman considered for a moment, fingertips tracing the shell of Imriel’s ear lightly, earning himself a soft shudder of a breath and a shiver he could feel pass through the boy against him, through to his own bones.  The choice came to him in an instant, so obvious that it couldn’t possibly be anything else, and screw how corny it seemed.  He drew a slow inhalation and began, quiet at first…picking up a bit of gentle volume as he went along.

_“When you try your best, but you don't succeed_   
_When you get what you want, but not what you need_   
_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep_   
_Stuck in reverse…”_

Over him he felt Imriel suck a breath and hold it, felt the hands laying loose against his bare skin tighten slightly. The smile that crept slow across Roman’s face was audible in his voice.  
  
“ _And the tears come streaming down your face_  
 _When you lose something you can't replace_  
 _When you love someone, but it goes to waste_  
 _Could it be worse?_  
  
 _Lights will guide you home_  
 _And ignite your bones_  
 _And I will try to fix you…_ ”

From beyond the cracked-open window letting in the deliciously cool night air, the sounds of the city played background; quiet hiss of tires and whoosh of traffic, distant honking of horns and music so thin it barely registered.  Voices in the street here and there, the occasional shout of recognition or irritation, and all those other city-sounds he’d become so used to now.  Sounds like home.  
  
“ _And high up above or down below_  
 _When you're too in love to let it go_  
 _But if you never try you'll never know_  
 _Just what you're worth_  
  
 _Lights will guide you home_  
 _And ignite your bones_  
 _And I will try to fix you…_ ”

Above him Imriel’s breathing had evened out, deepened, and the soft weight of him had increased as each muscle and every limb unwound into relaxation.  That green head rocked slightly though, and Roman felt the push of a kiss, just there over his heart.  He let tired eyes shut and pushed back against the pillow under his head. 

“ _And high up above or down below_  
 _When you're too in love to let it go_  
 _But if you never try you'll never know_  
 _Just what you're worth_  
  
 _Lights will guide you home_  
 _And ignite your bones_  
 _And I will try to fix you…_ ”

His voice died away slowly from the crescendo it had risen to, and silence came seeping back in, all those little noises from outside taking over, mingling with the ones from inside, Miss Victoria purring away with her tail flicking against his side, and Imriel’s quiet breathing.  No matter how much he’d grown to love his little place in this city, no matter how comforting and peaceful it had become, Roman was keenly aware that for the very first time, it finally felt like home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah cheese, and i don't care. Just try to stop these two from being cute. If you want to hear Roman's version of Fix You find it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MY077tklC1I


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey, have a pile of feels
> 
>  
> 
> " 'Cause even the stars they burn  
> Some even fall to the earth  
> We've got a lot to learn  
> God knows we're worth it  
> No, I won't give up"

“It’ll be fine.”  Imriel was reassuring him, again, as they sat, half tangled together on the bus, “Look, they want to meet you, ok?  It’ll get to the point where they just hunt us down and show up at your door one day.  We don’t have to stay long.”

Roman just nodded silently, keeping eyes on Imriel’s fingers, intertwined with his own, stroking gently against his knuckles with his thumb. 

“It’s fine.” 

“It’ll probably just be a small party, Gabe’s place isn’t huge or anything.”  Imriel honestly looked more nervous than he felt, and it was setting Roman on edge a bit.  He wasn’t big on parties, but it wasn’t so bad that it inspired panic or anything…so long as he could comfortably play wall flower, he was more than happy to suffer a crowd for a little while. 

The fact that it was Imriel’s apparent brood of brothers throwing the thing and insisting that the youngest of them bring this boyfriend of his along leant a bit of pressure to it, but it was how Imriel seemed to be struggling with reassuring him that had him the most wary.  He missed that habitual smile as Imriel’s mouth pulled itself into a tight line while he glanced out the window, and Roman lifted the hand he held, bit a line of little kisses across each knuckle and back again in slow progression till Imriel had to turn toward him again and let his mouth relax into its natural upward curve, using a finger of that lifted hand to turn Roman’s face toward himself as he lent in to steal a light pull of a kiss.

Another three blocks and they untangled themselves and piled off the bus.  It wasn’t a fantastic neighborhood or anything, but was in one of the better parts of Queens, and people were out on the street, sitting on stoops and fire escape landings, enjoying the spring warmth and Friday night.  Imriel laced a hand in his and led them both along toward the building his brother lived in, music audible out the open windows, a few smokers and other people lining the steps outside, chatting amicably and scooting out of the way as the pair of them made their way past and up toward the open front door.  Roman could feel Imriel’s grip tighten slightly and it made that hard little stone that had already lodged itself in the back of his throat begin to feel a bit heavier.

Down the narrow hall and up on flight of stairs they found the heart of the party in the apartment that took up the whole of the second floor.  Still a small and cramped space, but nowhere near as tiny as Roman’s own little flat.  Imriel shot a grin back over one shoulder as they entered and headed for the kitchen, apparently knowing exactly where to find his siblings.  As if the noise they were making wasn’t a clue enough as to where the Connelly boys were gathered.   Every single head in the packed kitchen turned their way as the quintet of brothers spotted Imriel and raised a joint shout of greeting, half joyous - half teasing in its nature.  He dropped Roman’s hand to dive into the fray, getting lost in a dogpile of hugs, thumping hands, and tight, backward gripped handshakes. 

Roman hung back, watching.  Imriel was by far the shortest of what looked to be six siblings all together, head just barely coming to the shoulders of about three of the other brothers, and to the ears of the other two.  He was grinning like a manic in the midst of them as one snatched the hat off the back of his head and another hooked an arm round his neck before tousling brilliant green hair roughly as he tried to duck and dodge it ineffectively.  All of them were talking at once in a way that must have only been understandable if you’d grown up in the middle of that beautiful mess.  And they were all beautiful, each sharing the bright, piercing green eyes he’d come to love so much, but all very different looking.  Like someone had taken similar features and assembled them in all their variety of patterns.

“Luci, where is this new boy?”  The tallest and bulkiest was exclaiming loudly, and Roman could feel himself shrink back against the doorframe.  For a second he’d almost hoped he’d become invisible.  Six sets of eyes turned his way and he was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to swallow, wasn’t sure where to look and ended up choosing a space about three feet in front of himself on the floor, hands delving deeper into pockets as jeans threatened to begin a slide down around ankles.  He gritted teeth and forced himself forward, toward the little crowd in the center of the kitchen, forced a scanning glance of the lot of them and a brief, fitful little smile that he hoped didn’t look as pained as it felt. 

“Hey.”  Oh good, he managed words, well, a word.  But was pretty sure it went unheard over all the other noise.

Imriel’s arms wound around him suddenly and he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, pulled a hand out of one pocket to wrap his arm loosely over the shelf of the other’s shoulder in an automatic and comforting gesture.

“This is Roman.”  Imriel was saying, half hugging him, turned at an angle to speak to the jury of five.  “Roman, this is…”  He unwound one arm to point at each brother in turn, “Mike…Gabe…Raph…Uri is there in the back….and Remi.”

It happened in a rush, and Roman wasn’t quite sure exactly _how_ it happened; must have started with that tallest one stepping forward and reaching out a hand.  He’d lifted his arm from over Imriel’s shoulder to reach for it automatically and found his own hand in a crushing grasp.  Then Imriel’s arms around him were gone and he’d been drug into the mess of them all.

“Nice to meet you Roman!  Damn you’re a tall fucker…  Nice tats.”  The first one was saying.  Another was shoving a beer into his hand. 

“Imriel said you play guitar…write some of your own stuff.  I think we got one here, you’ll have to show us later”  Another was piping up. 

“Hey, I’m Remi.”  They were all speaking over each other and he was only getting bits and pieces, could feel shoulders inching up around his ears in the crush of them, He turned to find one of the shorter brothers smiling up at him in a way that wasn’t entirely friendly.

 “How long have you and Imriel been together now?  Cause he always lies to us about this stuff.”

“Uh…” Roman blinked, at a loss.  It really didn’t matter, someone else was speaking.

“You know he’s the youngest right?  We got an obligation to watch out for him.”

“Dude, don’t mind them, they just like to be blowhards, Uri can’t even kill a fucking spider on his own, alright?”

“Shut up, man.”

“No but really.  We find out you hurt him, and they won’t ever find you.  Mike, am I right?”

“Don’t threaten him, dude…but yeah, they won’t ever find ya.”

“You guys are so full of it, Roman, don’t listen to them.”

“No, you should probably really listen to them, we take Imriel’s happiness pretty seriously.”

“Bullshit, since when did you guys give a rat’s ass about my love life?”  Well at least there was Imriel’s voice somewhere in the din, though Roman was fucked if he could find him.

“So what do you do, Roman?”

“I just told you, man, he sings…don’t you?”

“Uhm…yea and…” Roman couldn’t even finish his sentence before the next one was talking over him. He caught a glimpse of Imriel, perched in a comfortable seat on a nearby countertop behind the pack of his brothers, looking apologetically amused as he sipped on his own beer.  Roman was beginning to feel like a rabbit cornered by a group of dogs.

“Ooooooh, Luci.  Sucker for a guy with a guitar, I see how it is.”

“Luci?” Roman managed to get out, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Lucifer.”  One of the piped up, to the raucous laughter of the rest of them.  “For some reason our parents named the lot of us after the arch angles.”  Another one explained, more helpfully.  “So there’s Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Remiel….and when Imriel popped up as a surprise it was either make a name up that matched or else call him Lucifer.  We all think they made the wrong choice.”

“So, you guys living together or what?” 

“Dude, who asks that?”

“Hey, I can ask.  I want that apartment if Luci is shacking up with this tall fucker.”

“Nice.”

“Dude, blow me.  Hey Roman, where you from?”

“Out west, didn’t you say, Luci?”

“Oh shit, really?  Man what do you think of New York?  You got an accent?  What brought you out here? You got family?   How’d you guys meet?”

“No but seriously, you break his heart, we’ll break your knees.”

Roman felt like he was drowning.  The sense of overwhelming panic wrapping itself around him like a boa constrictor, from stomach clean up to his throat.  He must have looked it too; stiff-backed, shoulders practically wearing his ears, eyes drying out slowly from the inability to blink.  He could feel the cold sweat sticking the shirt he was wearing against his back and sides.  The hand that gripped him round his upper arm suddenly felt cool against his skin, and he submitted to its steadfast pull.

“Enough, guys.  You wonder why I never bring anyone around, Christ.”  Imriel was chiding, drawing Roman away as his brothers groaned and began their protestations and defenses as he pulled Roman out of the kitchen, toward another room, pausing in the hallway to look up at him, pale brows furrowed slightly. 

“Sorry about that.” 

Roman shook his head slightly, tried to offer up a reassuringly nonchalant expression and must have failed spectacularly if the deepening of that line between Imriel’s brows was any indication. They found a quiet corner of the living room and Roman set the beer one of the brothers had forced on him aside upon a shelf while Imriel nursed his own. 

“Look, they aren’t that bad once you get to know them, I swear, but they’re like a friggan gang when we all get together…and unfortunately we’re always all together.  Or at least they are.”  Imriel continued as Roman’s hand found his waist, hooked fingers in his belt like a loose tether.  Roman nodded silently, lifting and dropping one shoulder in a shrug as he watched the others in the room chatting comfortably in little clusters.  At his side, Imriel kept talking, unbothered by his usual quiet nature, explaining each brother in turn. 

Michael was apparently the eldest and had joined the armed forces when he hit 18, had done well for himself there and was still active in duty, though none of them knew exactly what it was he did, and it seemed he preferred to keep it that way.  Either because he had to, but more likely because he liked the speculation it invited.  Gabriel was a city EMT, had wanted to be a doctor but had been struggling with school and decided to put his medical training to different use after 9/11.  Raphael was the heavier-set one, and had a job as a programmer – was apparently amazingly good at it and once got himself in some minor trouble for hacking into some low-level state government sites as a kid and doing a bit of digital graffiti.  Uriel lived with Raphael, was kind of aimless at the moment, waiting tables to make ends meet and into photography.  He was good, but not nearly good enough to earn a living with it yet.  Remiel was the second youngest and still in college, had switched his major so many times now it had nearly become a new semester tradition.  He got great grades, though, so his scholarships held.

By the time he was done running through them all, Imriel was out of his drink and dry from talking.  He pushed off the wall he’d come to lean against, striking out toward the kitchen again only to come to an abrupt halt as the tether of Roman’s grip on his belt held, his arm outstretched, unwilling to give up its grip just yet.  He rocked as he reached the end of that grasp and turned back, giving Roman a bemused smile.  Roman managed to return it with a shy one of his own, towing the shorter boy back, blue eyes slanting shut as fingertips found his face and Imriel pressed a featherlight line of kisses from his cheek to the outer corner of his mouth, making him laugh silently.  He released his grip on Imriel’s belt grudgingly and watched the other walk off toward the kitchen again. 

He was long getting back, long enough that Roman had shifted from comfortable silence against the wall toward increasing restlessness.  He should have just gone along with him.  Should just go find him now, but that meant facing the firing squad again, and it wasn’t something he really felt ready to tackle again.

Not as if he had a choice in the matter when three of them rounded the corner into the room and spotted him.  Roman could feel his back digging into the bookshelf beside him as they closed in, each wearing that alarmingly familiar smile of Imriel’s.  Somehow it was _much_ less comforting on them.  He was a scant inch taller than each of them and almost as broad through shoulders, but it wasn’t as if Roman was used to resorting to physically defending himself.  He felt, in fact, about three feet tall at the moment.

“Roman, there you are.”

“Hey, you guys disappeared on us.”

“Sup, you need a drink?”

 _Oh god, it was starting again_.

“So we never got to hear how you guys met.”

“Who cares, man.  So how long you been in NY?” 

“You guys are friggan embarrassing, ok?  Look, Roman, don’t judge us all by these assholes.  Some of us have a bit of couth.”

“Oh shut up, Uri, like you’re so above it all.”

“Dude, I’m just saying, back it down a notch.”

“He’s fine.  Look at him.  You’re fine, aren’t you?  Christ, he’s not a kid, calm down.”

“Whatever.  You guys gotta come hang out more often.  We haven’t seen Imriel in ages since he started up with you.”

“Oh man, you guys ought to come to Sunday dinner at Mom and Dad’s one night.  I can just imagine their fucking faces, it’d be priceless.  Mom especially, she’d eat her damn tongue.”

“Dude, that’s not funny.”

“No, but it _would_ be.”

“ ‘Scuse me.”  Roman managed to spit out, and shoved his way out from the corral the three men had made around him.  Face felt hot, chest unbearably tight.  He didn’t even bother to listen to whatever conversation was going on behind him as he cut down the hallway and paused at the doorway of the kitchen, glancing inside hesitantly.

Imriel was within – hard to hide him in a crowd with that shock of hair – his back to the doorway, happily chatting away with what Roman supposed were the two eldest brothers, joining the pair of them in a sudden burst of laughter – all three laughs exactly identical.  He watched for a long, silent second before glancing behind himself.  The other half of that band of brothers hadn’t followed him yet, but if the closing proximity of their voices was any clue, they would be soon.

Roman caught his lower lip between teeth and dove past the kitchen doorway, down the hall and stairs.  He jostled someone on the steps outside as he made his way out and mumbled an apology at the person’s affronted exclamation, reaching to pull his hood up and shove hands into hoodie pockets as he walked hard and fast down the sidewalk.  He wasn’t very familiar with Queens, but the bus route had seemed straightforward enough.  He’d just follow it back as best he could, ask directions if he got lost. 

He must have made it almost a mile or more before he could hear shouting behind himself, and caught the sound of his own name. 

“ROMAN!   ….Roman!”

He paused, eyes shutting as he released a resigned sigh, shoulders slumping slightly before he turned around.   It must have been a good thing Imriel liked those solitary morning runs, because he never would have caught him up otherwise.  Either way he was still huffing slightly as he came to a halt ten feet away, leaning forward to rest hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“Roman.  What… what are you doing?”

“Walking home.”  He felt a pang of guilt he hadn’t expected, but shoved it under all that awful jumbled mess of unhappiness the night had heaped upon him, tried to suffocate it under the stronger burning emotions.  His tone sounded colder than he'd expected it to, and as Imriel caught his breath the hurt expression that features re-arranged themselves into became an unbearable thing to look at.  Roman fixed eyes on the ground to the right instead. 

“Why?  I mean…if you wanted to leave you could have said…” Imriel was struggling, pushing himself to stand upright again, dragging the back of a wrist across his damp brow, sticking wisps of green against it carelessly.  “You were just going to go?  Just like that?  I couldn’t find you… I got worried. “

That tone, so much more hurt than the anger Roman had half expected, half-hoped for, clenched a hand around his heart and squeezed mercilessly.  He ducked his chin slightly.

“I couldn’t…”  He started, but lost that thread, picked up another, “I felt like some kind of animal in a cage, Imriel.  And your brothers all standing around with sharp sticks.”

The heat of his own words surprised himself, but he clung to it, found some odd comfort in getting it out, lashing out at last, even if it was at the wrong person.

“I’m not…I’m not some kind of side-show freak, either.”   A half a glance at Imriel registered his confusion, and Roman shook his head at the sidewalk underfoot.  “Remi mentioned your parents.  Seemed to enjoy the idea they’d really be shocked at me.”

“What… no, ok…Roman, _fuck_ my parents.  They know who I am, alright?  And we don’t really speak – haven’t for years.  Fuck Remi too, he thinks he so goddamned funny but he’s just an insensitive jerkoff.  He’s got no damn filter between his mouth and whatever it is stuck between his ears that he calls a brain.  Hell, half of them are the exact same way.  Look, I’m sorry.  I know they can be a bit much, I shouldn’t have left you alone.  I don’t know what they said back there, but don’t… don’t do this, ok?  Please, Roman.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the sidewalk as Imriel closed the distance between them slowly, like he was approaching a wounded animal, and Roman wasn’t sure why the hands he had shoved into his pockets were shaking, curled them into tight balls to stop the nervous sensation of it.  He felt fingertips touch his face and they burned, forced him to turn his head away. 

“Roman…” Imriel’s tone was killing him; hurt with a thin river of fear and panic hitching at the end of it.  He could feel his breath shudder on the exhalation. 

“I don’t…I don’t…”  He couldn’t quite get the words out, found it hard to speak or swallow around the jagged rock that had lodged itself in his throat.  When at last words managed to fit themselves together and eek past that dam they came tumbling out in a mess, all his awkward anxiety clinging to them like a life raft.  “You could do better than me.”

Imriel sucked a breath like he’d been punched in the gut, and Roman felt hands fist hard in the fabric of his shirt, felt his frame rock slightly as the shorter boy tried to shake him, once. 

“ _Look_ at me.”  It wasn’t an order to be disobeyed, and Roman forced eyes off the pavement.  Instantly regretted it, and what he’d said the second they landed on Imriel’s face and the mingling of distraught confusion and intensity fighting for its ownership. 

“There is no _better_ than you.  I want you, Roman.  That’s it, that’s all there is to it.  There’s no ‘because’ and no excuse.  I like who you are, I like who you make me.  There isn’t one thing I don’t like about you, not one.  Roman, don’t…don’t take yourself away from me.  Please.” 

Imriel may have had the disadvantage when it came to the size difference between them, but he was still strong enough to use the grip he had on Roman’s shirt to push knuckles into his chest and drive him back against the brick of the building behind them, push him against it before he reached to catch his face and pull him down against his mouth, as if he’d remind him, _show_ him what he was trying to say.  Kiss a bit rough, anxious and insistent. 

Roman relented against it, there wasn’t any fight in the world he could have put up against the taste of Imriel’s mouth, and when the green eyed boy broke contact at last and pushed his forehead against his own, Roman felt like he couldn’t open his eyes.  Didn’t want to leave the safe dark behind closed lids, there in that space where they shared breath. 

“ ‘M sorry.”  He managed to mumble, quietly.  He flexed fingers and was shocked to find that his hands had apparently at some point found their own way up under the back of Imriel’s shirt.  Warm skin felt good under fingertips, soothing and smooth.  “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t quite sure what for exactly, but he knew he was.  Imriel stole a softer series of kisses, shutting him up, sucking lightly between upper and lower lip alternatively before he spoke again.

“No, I’m sorry.  I should have known my brothers would be a big bag of dicks.  You should have met them one by one.  They aren’t so bad that way…but for some reason they travel in packs.”   Imriel backed off slightly, hands falling from their frame of Roman’s face to pull him off the wall.  “Can we go home?”

Roman nodded, one half of his mouth curving up in an apologetic, awkward smile.  It was a long, long walk before they were finally able to find a bus stop headed in the right direction and collapse into seats on the last one running that night, bone-deep exhaustion taking over as they dozed on the way home, Imriel’s head lolling against Roman’s shoulder, arms loose around him like he was afraid or unwilling to let go.  Some douche heckled the pair on his way past and Roman didn’t even care, didn’t mind, only pulled the sleeping boy beside him a little closer. 

When they’d drug themselves off at the closest stop and back up the three flights of stairs to Roman’s apartment, that half-asleep, drugged sensation had only partially worn off.  Roman locked the door behind them both, dropped keys on the table and bent to greet Miss Victoria as she wound herself round his legs with insistent, quiet _mrowrs_.  By the time he’d fed her, left her purring happily with each mouthful, crouched on the counter with her tail flicking blissfully, Imriel was sprawled out on the bed, shoes and hat on the floor but every other article of clothing still on. 

Roman toed off his own boots and shucked pants before he crawled over the splayed shape of the other boy.  Fingers tugged the buttons of Imriel’s plaid shirt open one at a time, his head dipping to follow the slash of skin he revealed from throat to navel with a trail of slight, barely-there kisses.  Imriel’s fingers found his hair, shaped themselves to the curve of the back of his head with a sleepy, thick-throated sound as Roman rose to his starting point again, pushed his face under Imriel’s jaw, tilting his green head back against the pillow.  Skin tasted as good as the first time, scent wonderfully familiar.   

They moved slow, took all the time in the world, falling back and forth between drowsy, lazy bonelessness and drowning in each other.  A caress could take an hour, a kiss all night.  It felt like glue, filling in the cracks they’d made, sealing things tight again, perhaps tighter than before.  And by the time they both had passed out in a pile of tired limbs and warm skin the horizon was just beginning to fade from the ink of night toward the slow, creeping golds of dawn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song just seems to go with this scene: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYqcpTYQ8I4  
> I imagine Roman sitting out on the fire escape the morning after, playing it, singing quietly to himself and the cat while Imriel is out on his run.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun little blurb for no reason. No reason plus bathtubs.

There were so many beautiful things in the world, so many.

The city lights, when viewed from high up at night, spreading out forever like the milky way had come to lay upon the earth.  A perfect chord, played just right, it's strains dying slowly into silence. And countless beautiful people...clustered on sidewalks, gazing out if cafe windows, lounging on subway platform benches.

 

But there was nothing, nothing in the world more beautiful than Imriel just at that moment.  Glistening wet, moving slow over him, mouth open in a silent breath of bliss with his chin tiled back. There couldn't, wouldn't be anything more beautiful.

 

It had been a long day, a busy weekend morning at the cafe.  Roman had greeted the end of his shift in the late afternoon like a release from forced labor, stopped by home to check in on miss Victoria and then hopped the bus to Imriel's.  They didn't spend much time there, Roman preferred the comforts of his own small space too much, but an occasional visit was nice.  Imriel had more room, a better neighborhood...and best of all a large bathroom with a tub.  It was no small luxury to sink into near scalding hot water and just let the world drift away in uninterrupted silence for a while.  

 

Imriel hadn't been home when Roman finally trudged up the stairs and knocked upon his door, most likely had been held up with a client that had run long, but Roman had a key, and had let himself in.  Dropping his bag at the door, he'd waited a bit, thumbing absently through a book left on a table  before he pulled his shirt collar away from his throat and caught a whiff of himself with a grimace.  An early morning rushed rinse in the shower was no match for a long day, and suddenly he couldn't even stand himself, could feel the thin film of kitchen grease and sticky salt sweat on his skin.  He tossed the book back on the table and rose, shrugging out of his hoodie and pulling his shirt up off overhead, leaving clothes behind him in little piles as he wandered toward the bathroom.  A shower would have been faster, more efficient, but the lure of a tub full of hot water against the dull ache of overworked lower back and legs was too much to resist. Roman sank down upon the edge of the deep, old tub, porcelain edge hard under thighs as he turned the taps and closed the drain.  

 

He rose to tug pants open and shove them to the floor after toeing out of shoes, and sank into the blissful heat with a quiet hiss. Ten minutes later, with the foam of soap from his scrub dissolving around him, like little islands, he was sunk down up to his chin and half drowsing when the creak of the bathroom door had him slanting one eye open. 

 

Imriel was grinning like a cat with a secret, pulling off his hat and tugging shirt up overhead, brilliant green strands of hair standing on end in that charming static way it assumed every time it wasn't concealed under the dull grey of his habitual cap.  Roman's smile in greeting hid itself behind the way his lower lip pulled between the crush of teeth as Imriel thumbed jeans open and pushed them to the floor.

 

"What...what are you..."

 

"Joining you." The beautiful boy covered in a riot of bright color and little silver bits answered, as if it were common as anything, stepping into the tub, leaning forward to catch the edges with his hands, lowering himself into the water as Roman shifted up slightly, slung a dripping leg out over one edge to make space.

 

Roman could feel his heart catch slightly as Imriel dipped low and slid forward, the small silver balls that studded chest and stomach making themselves known as they pressed in, slipped against his skin in soft promises. Imriel's mouth was warm against his own, slow suckle and pull, tongue sweet like he'd just finished a sip of cherry cola.  

 

"Hi."

 

Tease.  Such a tease, with that ever present, perfect sickle of a smile.  Roman lifted a dripping hand from the water and ran knuckles down the hollow of the other boy's cheek, leaving droplets rolling like little tears behind them. Eyes drifted shut as Imriel's mouth grazed the tip of his nose, brushed the light feather of kisses over the damp clump of lashes, the warm weight of him fitting perfectly between thighs, water slicking skin and the glide of hands that were gripping ticklishly at his sides. 

 

The edge of the tub felt incongroutiously solid against the back of his neck as he tilted his head back to accommodate the wonderful, biting line of kisses that were straying down his throat, causing that wonderful hiccup in his slow, sleepy heartbeat.  Distantly, he was aware of water-slick fingers making paths between them, toward the join between his thighs.  Not that he needed the urging, but, oh when they wrapped round him in a soapy half of a grasp did he suck a breath.  

 

Roman's Adam's apple worked a hard swallow under Imriel's lips as he let eyes roll back, drift shut, caught between the suckling, nuzzling little bites that strayed up and over his throat from jaw to collarbone in lazy, random patterns and the slick, water heated fingers that had him in a teasingly light grasp, working him slowly.  Too slowly, pace a maddening thing, each stroke long, each ending in a gently squeezing grasp of the head of his cock that had hips pushing up just a fraction, pleadingly.  Under his own hands the rim of the tub was a porcelain lifeline, held hard, and he could hear his own quiet gasps echoed back at him off the tiles, sounding lost, wanton.

 

There was a quiet splash, a shift of limbs and water, and Roman slit eyes open to watch Imriel slide forward, climb over him, stroking hand turned guide, and the dull pressure against the head of his cock intensified for a moment before there was a sweet, welcoming giveaway and then, then the surrounding clench of muscle had him in a grip that had dropped his mouth open.  Imriel's own lips echoed in a silent O as his hands steadied his descent against the slick shelf of Roman's shoulders.

 

It was as gradual a tease as his hand had been, the way he worked hips. Just riding the very head of Roman's cock at first, deepening inch by slow inch, back arched just so, chin tilted toward his chest and those beautiful eyes shut tight against the delicious friction.  

Steam rose in lazy, curling ghosts off his skin into the humid air,water wicking down pale skin and lush inked arms in heavy drops as he moved, sinuous.  One hand braced itself, palm splayed wide, against the solid plane of Roman's chest, it's weight warm, pushing hard over the steady thud of his heart, the other wrapped round the base of his own erection, stroking in tandem with each roll of his hips, so it rose as he came down, began to bottom out.

 

There were so many beautiful things in the world.  So many, but there was nothing, not a single creation, that could rival the look in Imriel's eyes as he opened them and smiled, drunk on bliss, down at Roman as he rode him.  Roman had had lovers before but there was something about the boy over him, around him, that felt like a force of nature.  Serene and wild all in the same hand.  His grip on the tub tightened as hips rolled harder, making him very, very aware of just how deep he was buried within.  And all he could do was watch.  Watch and float in the ecstatic, dull ache of pleasant pain, bittersweet want.

 

"Roman..."

 

Imriel's quiet voice made his name sound like a prayer, like something raw and needed.  

 

"Nnnh....ah....Roman...."

 


	7. Highschool AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little AU departure, because angst. And feels.  
> Also my first shot at first person perspective narrative instead of third person omniscient, so forgive me if its not the usual style. It felt better to write it this way.

Everyone thinks highschool is somehow easier for the quiet ones.  Like you just get to skate by under the radar if you keep your mouth shut, keep your head down, stick to the wall and don’t make waves.  Everyone is wrong. 

Some people were just born with a target painted on them, and even if you had the ability to somehow magically sink between the dull khaki painted cracks between the cinderblock walls in the hallways, trouble would still manage to find you. 

Being tall didn’t help, standing a nearly awkward head above almost everyone else, thanks so much to an early and hard growth spurt that left you gawkishly awkward, with long limbs you had no idea how to use and a lean physique struggling to catch up and put on muscle to match your length.   So you slouched when you stood and slumped when you sat, trying to force yourself into the size and shape of everyone else.  Exactly the same way you tried to force everything to fit the mold that everyone else seemed made for, like hammering a square peg into a round hole every new day.

But you weren’t like everyone else.  And quietly, you didn’t want to be. 

But you didn’t want to stand out, either.  Make that target any bigger.  So you wore the same black hoodie almost every day, till your mom complained about having to wash it all the time, till you’d chewed the plastic nubs on the ends of the hood strings to shreds and the cuffs of the sleeves started to unravel in really comfortable ways that felt soft against the insides of your wrists and you managed to tear holes for your thumbs to fit through when it was cold. 

You made a few friends, learned to hide your target behind them, like a human shield. 

Locker rooms were the stuff nightmares were made of.  Some days the panic was overwhelming, and you felt sure everything about you was written all over your skin, on the red you couldn’t keep out of your face.  You never realized the power that came with being tall, the way it intimidated, would have kept you safe even if one of the dickwad loudmouths got an inkling of the fact that you kept your eyes trained on the floor at your feet because god forbid you got caught looking a second too long at some guy pulling his shorts off.

A lot of your insecurities were invented, really, but you wouldn’t have the benefit of that knowledge till so much later in life, and even then you’d look back with relief and pride yourself on how you managed to endure those years.  Not unscathed, no… because there would always be that group that had it out for you, found that target on your back too tempting and your silence somehow offensive.  Thought the way you turned the shade of a roasted beet was the greatest thing in the world.

Some days you had bruises on your shoulder blades from the lockers, some days you had bruises on your insides from words that felt much harder. 

But it wasn’t all bad.

There was music, and older kids who seemed nicer, more chill.  The ones who already had it all figured out.  They wore clothes like you, not to hide, but to stand out.  They smoked, and you learned to.  Learned to love it too, the dull nicotine buzz a relaxing thing that took the edge off.  Your mom never said a word when she smelled it on you, in your hair.  Just hassled you about the length of it, and why that cut, and sweet jesus why are you messing with the color again? It’s all going to fall out if you keep this up. 

But there was music.  And lessons, and the radio, and your headphones always around your neck, always something new blotting the world out from class to class, making hallways a dance hall instead of a hell.  You played guitar till your fingertips bled, scabbed, calloused, and bandaids became one of those regular things you wore round like rings. 

Being quiet had other advantages, too.  You felt like you saw a lot more than other people did, decided it was mostly because they were so busy making noise, so busy thinking of the next thing to say that they ignored the rest of the world.  That was kind of fine, because for the most part it meant they might be ignoring you.  But you got to see.  You noticed it when the girl who wore way too many different shades of pink all at once suddenly stopped wearing short sleeves, even in the dead heat of summer.  You noticed the scent of booze in the chemistry teacher’s coffee cup every time you had to walk past his desk, even though it was 8 in the morning.  Noticed the picture of his wife was gone too.

And you noticed that kid with the smile.  The one who fit right in, who had more brothers than anyone could keep track of.  You noticed how every single notebook he owned was covered in art,  front and back covers and each page, more thick, black-lined scribbles then they had actual class notes in them, and you noticed how some days he must have run out of paper because he’d cover his forearms in those sharpie designs, scrawling lazy, beautiful patterns  clean up to his elbows. 

And you noticed the day he noticed you.

It was startling to see those bright green eyes looking curiously back at you from across the library.  You couldn’t jerk your gaze away quick enough, even if he had caught you staring, and you slunk off quickly, clumsily behind the shelves of the nearest periodical stacks.  Stayed hidden there for what felt like ages.  When the bell rung at last you’d slung your bag over your shoulder and practically ran across the library toward the desk to fling your books on the counter.  Felt a hot wave of panic as the librarian took her time checking each out, commenting on your selections like you gave a damn.  And as if you couldn’t help yourself, your eyes turned toward the people filing out…and found that same set of brilliant eyes looking back again, the boy they belonged to still smiling.  Like he had a secret or something.

And maybe he did.  Because you caught those green eyes more and more often.  Till it felt like you were the watched instead of the watcher.

It felt uncomfortable…but oddly thrilling? 

At first it was nerve-wracking, but he never stopped smiling, and something about the things it did his face, something about how gentle it turned features, how it softened everything,  how it felt…inviting, reassuring?  Something about it kept that dull sense of panic at bay.

At some point after it stopped being terrifying, it started being nice, and eventually, somewhere along the line it became addictive.  You started wanting it, and found that on the days when your schedules didn’t collide or just the days he didn’t seem to notice you that you went home feeling a bit cheated, a little empty.  After those days, the next time, you’d always find it in yourself to manage a little smile back, even if it was kinda crooked.

One day he passed you in the hallway and not only did it seem like he was looking for you first, but he also said ‘hey.’  So casually, as if it were nothing.  It was nothing.  You had to keep reminding yourself the rest of the day.  Still, it felt like there was some kind of small, glowing ember lodged in the center of your chest, and no matter how hard you tried to stamp it out, it felt so good, kept feeling good.

The next time it happened you actually managed to mumble a response.

You noticed when he changed his hair, noticed when he ran out of blue sharpie on one arm and had to  finish his design with purple that didn’t quite match.  Noticed how he liked to paint his nails black and pick the polish off habitually, but just off certain nails.  And you noticed when he started dating that girl.

At first it wasn’t obvious.  He was always kind of surrounded by people, either some of that flock of siblings he had – his parents must have reproduced like rabbits – or else that ever rotating crowd of friends.  You just assumed she was part of that faceless group.  But then she was there, arms around his waist awkwardly, leaning into his shoulder the next time you saw him in the hall.  He looked at you but didn’t say hello.  Then she was everywhere.  Pushed up against the wall with him against her mouth before the first bell had rung, arms twisted around his neck.  Waiting outside of the library, twisting hair between her fingers in ways that made you wish it would snap off in huge chunks in her hand, looking bored until he showed up.  Monopolizing all the conversation at the table he usually sat at for lunch.

He didn’t look at you quite so often any more.  Never said ‘hey’ at all.

You’d been sneaking a cigarette outside in the middle of the day, most teachers didn’t care what kids did during lunch hour, provided you didn’t burn the building down and were back inside for the next class period.  Gym was next on your schedule block and it was bad enough having to face down the locker room trials without having to then run laps with a full stomach, so you skipped eating and killed your nerves and your appetite in one blow with the nicotine.

You’d just lit your second one when the door a few feet down opened and you instinctually, habitually just rolled behind the outcropped corner of the brick wall to get out of sight.  Regardless of whether it was a teacher or another student, you didn’t need the company or trouble.  So it came as a complete surprise when he was the one who poked his head around that corner.  Still smiling like he had that secret. 

You’d froze, practically dropped that burning little stick between your fingers, staring like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Hey.  Mind if I bum one?”

He might have asked you to explain advanced string theory physics from how hard your brain was working to process all this.  It was like a freak miracle of nature that you managed to dig the half-crushed pack of cheap coffin nails out of your pocket and hand them over.  Hell, you even remembered to offer him your lighter too, and after he struggled with it, took it back and lit the flame for him, held it cupped from the wind behind your palm.

He coughed on the first inhalation, and the second, thanking you behind his wrist as he sputtered slightly, eyes watering uncomfortably.  He introduced himself as Imriel, and as unique as that was, said he thought the name Roman was cool when you managed to mumble your own name in return.  He wasted that whole cigarette, forgetting he was holding it, rambling on as you both stood there waiting for the bell to ring.  If it never rung again you would have stood there forever and been completely fine with that.  He talked like he knew you, like you knew him.  Said he came outside because he was bored, but he had that look of wanting to escape that you knew too well because you felt it all the time yourself.

He’d glanced back at the door when that bell did go off, looked at it like a prison sentence.  But he gave you another smile, another thank you coupled with your name.  It sounded good the way he said it, and this time when you smiled back that little hot ember was lodged hard in your chest again, burning away like a chunk of phosphorous through your ribcage like it would leave a hole clean through you for the world to see.

No one in the locker room mattered that next hour.

He still didn’t look at you when she was around, but she wasn’t always around.

You started hanging out together in the library.  He found you in one of the carrolls one day, your headphones on, staring at the same page you’d read five times now as you kept spacing out.  You’d jumped when he snapped the one headphone lightly against your ear and glanced up to see that smile as he drug a chair up.  So close.  Wedged himself into the small, walled in desk space beside you.  His thigh right up against your own so that it felt like your heart had suddenly relocated to that exact spot and was bent on hammering its way out of your skin so it could fall into his lap as he asked what you were working on, what you were listening to, and didn’t you hate organic chem?

You struggled not to give one word answers.

It happened again, and again, like he was seeking you out.  Maybe he was.  One day he found you in the stacks, kneeling and digging between low shelves, and sunk his fingers into your hair, ruffled it slightly.  Your scalp felt like it had been electrified for the rest of the day, tingling in a way that distracted you completely.  So much so that it seemed everyone had to say everything to you twice before you heard them.

One day you complimented the doodles on his arms and he lit up like you’d put a candle inside a jack o lantern.  He’d grabbed your arm, pushed your sleeve up to your elbow and bit the end off his sharpie to draw a design on you.  All you could think about was how good he smelled, leaning that close, how warm his hand felt, holding your wrist down lightly, and how you could have made a constellation out of the four freckles just under his left ear.  But when you walked out of the library with him, she was waiting, and he gave her a kiss.  You looked away, walked around them, and heard her say something about you.  Some kind of question along the lines of, what’s up with that creeper?  You didn’t hear him defend you.

You pulled your sleeve down.  But you couldn’t stand to scrub enough in the shower that night to wash his design away.  It stayed for four days, like a fading shadow.

He played soccer, you found out in the fall.  You’d been hanging around outside after school with that group of upperclassmen, had your guitar with you since it was one of the days you had lessons, and you’d been bent over it, practicing new chords and listening to the idle talk around you in the hot sunshine, the can of iced tea beside your knee becoming undrinkable in the heat.

He’d walked by, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed red like someone had crushed a cherry pie against his face.  Winded, but still grinning.  He was short enough to look ridiculous in the long shorts and tall socks of the uniform, but still somehow managed to pull it off.  He stopped to say hello, and made a comment on not knowing that you played guitar.  One of your ‘friends’ made a comment on not knowing that straight guys were allowed to play soccer.

He laughed it off, but you got up.  Slung your guitar over one shoulder and grabbed that useless can of iced tea, done with that conversation.  He caught up to you, saying something about no big deal, just a joke and he could care less, the upperclassmen were always douchebags anyway.  You gave him a forced smile and he offered to give you a ride home.

His car was small, and seemed like it must have been handed down to him after being thoroughly used and abused by each of his brothers.  Felt like it was held together with duct tape and a prayer, but it worked and it was a ride.  You tossed your guitar in the back seat and crammed yourself in, knees of too long legs nearly up to your chin and shins pushed against the faded dashboard.  He drove like a maniac, but you didn’t care.  He smelled like sweat and sunshine and the mowed grass of the field. 

When he pulled up in your drive way you mumbled a thank you, and twisted in your seat to reach behind you into the back to grab your guitar, leaning forward between the front seats as you fished for it. 

It was his fingertips you felt first, sliding along the edge of your earlobe, pushing your hair back, curving around to trace the hook of your jaw.  You froze.  You froze and you felt your stomach open into some kind of yawning black pit of nothingness that was going to swallow you and him and his shitty car and the entire block whole.  And then his mouth was on yours.  And you still couldn’t move. 

They were shy little things.  Just against your upper lip.  Little brushes of a kiss, like he’d forgot how and was struggling to remember.  You caught his lower lip between your own and all of a sudden it was obvious he did remember.  Oh, but it was slow, so slow.  Proceed with caution.  His throat felt hot under your fingertips and still sticky-damp with sweat. 

When he pushed you away it was just to breathe, and smile at you.  You think you understood what the secret behind that grin was, now.  Your hand curled around the neck of your guitar and he put his own hands back on the steering wheel, said nothing except I’ll see you tomorrow.

That might have kept you up all night except it was a Friday.  He wouldn’t see you till Monday, and you found the fact that he wasn’t thinking straight somehow comforting, because you sure as hell couldn’t think at all.

Your face burned the next time he smiled at you in the hall.

His girlfriend hated you.  There was always some kind of cold glare each time she saw you, like she thought you were some kind of threat.  There was always some comment about, oh god that emo kid, or why the hell does he stare so much?  You adjusted, tried to avoid them in the hall when you could and stared at your feet like you were afraid you’d lose them when you couldn’t help sharing the same route. 

You still had the library, though.  And rides home on Fridays. 

He kissed in ways that made you forget to worry if the neighbors were outside.  Kissed like he needed air and you held all the oxygen in the world.  He never excused it, never tried to explain anything, and you didn’t care, you just didn’t want it to stop.

Several weeks later you ran into him at a party.  Someone’s parents were out of town and half the class had shown up to helpfully trash the joint and get loaded on cheap beer.  He’d already been three sheets to it when he spotted you, shouting your name and pushing through the crowd to press gang you into playing a game of beer pong with him.  Your aim was miserable but ten times better then his as happily drunk as he was.  He jostled you, cheered you, nearly killed himself trying to make the last cup some kind of embarrassingly hysterical trick shot.

Afterwards you’d gone to wait in line at the bathroom.  When the door opened at last for your turn, you felt hands pushing at your back, shoving you clumsily in, and you’d stumbled against the counter, turning to watch Imriel shut the door behind himself, locking you both in.  You couldn’t remember if there was anyone in line behind you, but when he pushed away from the door with that sweetly drunken smile, you couldn’t have cared less.

The beer didn’t even spoil the taste of his tongue against yours, and even though you had him up on the counter, it was his hands down your open jeans.  You came in his hand while he sucked at your fingers, green eyes wicked, if slightly unfocused.  He made you kiss him one last time before he opened the door, ordering you to wait fifteen seconds before following him.  You forgot to count as you stared at yourself in the mirror, sure that everyone would see him all over you somehow, written across your skin like his drawings.

You went home right after.

He had big dreams, and he never laughed at yours.  You felt thick as thieves, crushed into one carroll deep in the periodicals section where hardly anyone ever bothered to come.  Sometimes he wound his fingers in yours under the desk, sometimes he’d just rest a hand on your thigh.  Once in a while you’d push his hair back, just to touch his ear, watch the way his eyes automatically closed at the sensation.  It felt like stealing, and you liked it. 

Something changed. 

One week he was quieter.  He smiled less, it seemed, or perhaps when he did it just felt forced.  He still sought you out at the library, and though you wanted to, you didn’t ask what was bothering him.  He lent against you, stealing your headphones and letting his cheek push against your shoulder as you tried to pretend to be studying.  When his girlfriend met him afterwards he turned his face as she went to kiss him and it landed on his cheek instead of his mouth.  A small, dark part of you hoped it had smelled like you there. 

He met you after practice on Friday again, drove you home, and was unusually quiet.  When he pulled into your driveway and parked, he reached for you but you pulled back.  His surprise eased with your lopsided smile, and even more with your nod toward your front door. 

“Come inside.  My parents don’t get home for another two hours.  Come hang out.”

Three simple sentences that had taken you almost four months of rehearsing and planning and stomach churning nerves in order to get out. 

He looked shocked, then pleased, and you got your favorite smile back as he struggled to get his seat belt unclipped and turn the engine off.

Your room was a constant mess, but it hardly mattered.  You were pretty sure that you were the only thing he was looking at, when he was looking at all.  The shed skin of both your clothes joined the mess on the floor and blended in perfectly. 

His mouth was hot and his hands were ice cold.  He made the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard and left four deep furrows of scratch marks in your shoulder when you slid your fingers inside of him.  His skin tasted like sweat and sunshine and the fresh grass of the field.  You went slow.  You wanted to fuck his brains clean out, but you went slow, and it was worth it.  His hands on your face, those green eyes watching you struggle not to come, not to come so soon, and the way he kept kissing you, gently.  Like you were the one who would break.

Afterward neither of you wanted to move, pressed together stomach to stomach on your sides, his forehead resting against your collarbone and your chin atop his head, his hair sticking ticklishly to your face.

You chalked it up to the fact that the afterglow had made you stupid when you finally broke the silence.

“Please…” your throat felt dry, “Break up with her.”

He didn’t say anything.  Not one word, but his arms tightened around you and he buried his fingers in your hair, starting that dull electric tingle in your scalp again. 

You sang for him.  Quietly.  

When his breathing went funny, you figured it was because he was falling asleep.

When he left you walked him out, and stopped just outside the door, grinning.

“See you tomorrow.”  You joked, hoped he’d get the lame attempt at humor at his expense.

He stopped and turned around, gave you a look you couldn’t read and was suddenly back, arms around you again in a crushing hug.  Right there, on your front porch.  This time when he kissed you it was hard, it hurt, and there was no little, apologetic kiss to make up for it. 

You didn’t see his face when he pushed you away, and the sun had been shining on the windshield of his car as he backed out of the driveway and pulled off.

Monday you found out he was gone.

His dad had got a new job and the whole family had moved to New York, left that past weekend.

You realized you never got his phone number, and never gave him yours.

But at least he broke up with that girlfriend.  You heard some rumor he’d dumped her on Friday, just before practice.

He’d told her there was someone else.


	8. The Concert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a piece of trash who sucks at writing fluff, but I adore you, Grimmy, and I hope that this extremely belated birthday gift makes you smile. You are a wonderful friend and one of my favorite people. Thank you for your fantastic OCs, your beautiful and ridiculously sexy art (please never stop drawing dicks ok), thanks for being so much fun and just such a great person. Happy belated birthday, my wonderful Grims. 
> 
> I'm sorry that life and my own shittiness got in the way of me getting this done earlier.

He could hear the crowd, out there, just beyond the thick velvet fall of the old curtain.  Even with the hustle and noise of backstage, the ordered chaos was not nearly enough to drown out the sound of the standing-room only theater.  For most of the week he’d been able to ignore the nerves, thinking about anything BUT this night, figuring if he forgot about it then maybe it didn’t really exist, maybe it wouldn’t actually happen.  Imriel had caught him shredding the cuff of his favorite sweater one night, though.  He’d nearly unraveled the thing up to his elbow before the other boy had just quietly reached over and taken hold of his hand, drawn it toward himself and bit lightly at his knuckles before pushing it against his chest.  Just holding it there against his heartbeat, slow and steady, without even taking his eyes off the movie Roman had been completely ignoring. 

He must have been insane, agreeing to this.  Tristan had been persistent though, and in the end, music WAS what he wanted to do.

“Look, man, you got some good original stuff, you need to be playing bigger places then that coffee house if you want to get anywhere…you can’t just sit in a studio all the time and record and expect people to magically find you.  Besides, you’re great onstage.  You’ll be fine.”   Tristan’s argument had been hard to refute, and the promise of a nice slice of the ticket sales wasn’t something he could afford to turn his nose up at, either. 

So now he stood backstage, hands shoved deep into jeans, gripping the liners of his pockets to keep the sweat at bay, guitar strung over his back in a weight that normally felt comforting but at the moment felt like an anchor pulling him under as he rocked restlessly back and forth, back and forth from either foot.  He just about jumped a foot out of his own skin when Tristan’s hand clapped him on the shoulder.

“We’re up.”

If there was ever a second in his life when Roman knew what it was like to hear that it was your turn in front of the firing squad, this was it.  He was gonna be sick.  He was gonna die.  He was gonna pass out – Tristan’s hand slid from his shoulder to grab the nape of his neck and with a hard shove Roman went stumbling into the curtain and out between the part of its fabric onto the stage. 

The lights were blinding and the crowd, holy shit.  Holy shit the crowd.  Holy fucking shit so many people.  What the hell was he doing?  He swallowed, mouth dry, and glanced around, blinking.  The rest of his guys were settling in behind their instruments, shooting him tentative glances, waiting for him to either have a stroke or else get his ass up to the microphone. 

Somewhere in the back of his brain some sort of survival mechanism kicked in and propelled him forward, moving one numb foot in front of the other toward the very tip of the stage where a tall stool sat before a waiting microphone.  He nearly tripped on an amp cord but managed to shake it off the toe of his sneaker. 

_Just keep looking at the floor, just keep looking at the floor, don’t look up, no one is there, really it’s cool you’ll be ok…_

He’d forgotten how to breathe and by the time he sank down on the edge of the stool – close enough to its edge it slid a little bit like it was going to flip out from under him until he re-adjusted himself – his head was starting to spin a little bit from lack of oxygen.   He could _see_ his own hands shaking as he reached out and adjusted the mic, feel how weak their grip was as he pulled his guitar around in front of himself.  All he could manage was short little inhalations, like breathing out wasn’t really a possibility until he forced himself too – and boy was that a mistake.  He could hear his own, forced, trembling exhalation over the mic system…and so could everyone else.  The crowd that had been buzzing like a lazy beehive suddenly got a whole lot quieter. 

Roman glanced up.  Mistake number two.  So many faces, all tilted up, all staring at _him_.  
  
“Uhm…”

“ _HEY!  PLAY WONDERWALL!”_ Came a tormenting, trolling shout from somewhere toward the back of the room.  A few people in the crowd chuckled with laughter and Roman felt his face go horrifically red as he glanced back down at his guitar without even being able to register it was there any more. 

 

***

 

“Come the fuck on, guys, we are gonna be late!  Gabe, I can’t believe you wouldn’t just pay $15 for parking unless you drove round the block fifty times first.  You know you can’t parallel park for shit anyway, you are just gonna end up with a busted tail light and another ticket for parking in a restricted zone.”   Herding five idiot brothers along the sidewalk while being the shortest of all six of them was no easy task, and Imriel had just about given it up, pushed through the crowd of them to walk ahead.  Hell, he’d be running if it weren’t for them. 

“Yeah whatever man, it’s not my fault that parking everywhere in this stupid city is such a fuckin rip-off.  Some of us got rent to pay this month-“ Gabe was cut off as a shove from Mike nearly sent him off the sidewalk and into one of the parked cars he felt such resentment toward.

“Dude, just shut it, alright?  It’s Roman’s big night and Imriel wanted to get there early.  Now we’ll be lucky if he hasn’t already started, all cause you are a cheap piece of –“  
  
“Ticket’s guys.”  Uri interrupted, shoving slips of paper in each of their hands.  “And save the fighting, alright?  Imriel’s ready to kill us all as it is.  We don’t need to get kicked out of Roman’s show before we even make it through the door.”   He shoved a ticket into Imriel’s hand with a helpful smile just as they reached the said door to the massive building.  Imriel gave him a tight, nervous smile in return as he handed it over to the bouncer and got the back of his fist marked in a big, black X.  He’d wanted to be there a half hour earlier, wanted to be backstage with Roman to hang out, reassure him, just to be there.  Instead he and his band of brothers – WHY did he want to bring them again?  He was such a moron – were all shuffling through the door into the back of a packed auditorium, the lights already up on the stage and Roman… oh god, nearly tripping his way to the front of the stage looking like he was going to barf any second now.

The last of his brothers were all shoving their way in behind him, Imriel straining at the tops of his toes to see over most of the crowd, what felt like miles away from where Roman was sitting down nervously.  Imriel could barely feel the jostling and poking of elbows and shoulders behind himself, stuck watching Roman move like everything was in slow motion.  He could feel himself gnawing his lower lip into rawness as the crowd around them hummed restlessly.  He needed to get up there, needed to be closer…  Without thinking he shoved himself sideways and began slipping, pushing and working his way through the crowd.  Some guy immediately beside him as he started pushing cursing him out.

“Yo, asshole.  You wanted to be closer you shoulda got here earlier.  Standing room only don’t mean ‘front row for impatient dickheads’…”  Imriel ignored the jackass, but behind him he could practically feel his brother’s bristle, and swore he heard Mike’s voice saying ‘ _The fuck you just say to him, dick cheese?!’_

It really didn’t matter because a half a second later that same asshole’s voice rang out over the crowd.

“ _HEY!  PLAY WONDERWALL!”_   

Imriel froze, green eyes wide, almost terrified to look at Roman, stuck on the stage and obviously suffering.  He wasn’t, however, too terrified to turn around, ready to head back to that jackass and knock him to the ground.  The second he spun around though, he could see his wonderful band of idiot brothers already taking the situation well in hand.  Gabe hand landed the first punch, it looked like, and the guy was being hauled up off the floor and practically crowd-surfed by the five of them to the door directly behind them.  The scuffle lasted all of five seconds before the douchebag was being tossed bodily out the door to a smattering of applause by those in the back close enough to witness the whole thing go down.  And god bless Remi who was shoving some money at the bouncer to keep them all from being ejected similarly.

Imriel spun, back around, grinning, to see Roman peering out into the crowd at the disturbance in the back, eyes narrowed against the glare of the lights. Imriel started pushing again, shoving his way into the crowd, reaching to pull his grey hat off his head so brilliant, unmistakably green hair stood on end in a mess.  The applause from the back caught like fire to the rest of the crowd, who somehow assumed that was the cue to clap for Roman and the band behind him now that they were up.  Roman looked shocked as the audience all turned toward him with a growing wave of clapping, still slightly fear- frozen on the edge of the stage… until wide eyes hit the bright shock of green hair forcing its way toward him.

“H-hey…”  Oh shit, the mic picked that up too.  He hesitated, but that forceful part of his brain kept pushing him onward.  “Uhm.  Hey!  I’m uh…I’m Roman.”

He glanced from his guitar back toward the shock of green in the crowd, nervous that he’d lost it for a second, but no – there it was, closer now, Imriel’s face smiling encouragingly up at him.  He was nodding, mouthing something encouraging, nodding.  Roman was slowly realizing that if he could just focus on that face, just keep his eyes on him, maybe he could pretend the rest of the crowd wasn’t there.  Maybe he could get through this.  He faltered a bit of a smile and finally managed to breathe, find his voice.

“I’m Roman and we will _not_ be playing fucking Wonderwall tonight!”  

The crowd erupted in pleased laughter and another round of applause.  He didn’t wait for it to die down before he cut drug his thumb across the guitar strings, glanced at his drummer, and cut straight into the first set.

 

***

 

The bus jerked slightly as it hit a pothole, bouncing Imriel’s temple against Roman’s jaw where it rested, and Roman’s own head against the window.  He shifted and felt Imriel do the same beside him, glanced down to see two tired but happy green eyes looking up at him.

“You were awesome.”  Imriel mumbled, for what felt like the hundredth time in the three hours since the show had ended.  “Really awesome.  Everyone loved you.”

They had all headed out after they closed the theater, gone to a nearby after hours bar and gotten wonderfully drunk with the band, their friends, and all of Imriel’s brothers.  Roman didn’t even mind the crowd of people at their table, high off the thrill the performance had become, buzzed on the beer and a half he’d downed, and laughing at each wild re-telling of what the brothers had done to that heckler in the back.

“… No one fucks with our little brother and no one fucks with his boyfriend either!”  Remi must have shouted at least three times in between each round of shots they kept insisting on buying.  Imriel just kept shaking his head and looking more pleased and embarrassed each time they brought it up.

Eventually even the after party had to end though, and Roman and Imriel had ended up on the cross-town, both heading back to Roman’s even though Imriel had to work tomorrow and they both knew that meant he had to be up at the ass crack of dawn if he was going to make it on time from Roman’s apartment.  He was a warm, sleepy, whiskey-smelling weight tucked up against Roman’s side right now, soft hair tickling at Roman’s neck as he ducked his head to pull one of Roman’s hand up to his face, holding it open with his own fingers so he could push a ticklish kiss into the palm of his hand, bite harmlessly at the heel of it.

“I love _you_.”  Roman let the words slip out without thinking.  And Imriel froze before he turned his eyes upward again.  For a half a second it got hard to swallow again, for a half a second his heart seized up – and then Imriel had him crushed in a kiss that gave him a reason not to breathe.   It tapered off slowly, calmed down bit by bit, until Roman was just left with his forehead pressed against Imriel’s, the tips of noses brushing.

Even that close, Imriel’s words were crushed under the sound of the bus’s breaks squealing, the pneumatic hiss of the doors, and the absurdly loud, crackling speaker announcing their stop.  Roman’s cruel and over-active imagination could have almost tricked him into thinking that perhaps Imriel hadn’t said _I love you too_ , until they’d gotten up into his apartment and Imriel made damn sure to leave no room for doubt.


End file.
